


and i would run five thousand miles, just to fall down at your door

by thesecretdetectivecollection



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, and he's a fucking idiot, anyway jamie's kind of a little bit of a masochist, but once he makes a decision he sticks to it, they're cute as hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-14 18:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11789094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/pseuds/thesecretdetectivecollection
Summary: Stevie leaves for LA, and Jamie isn't quite sure how to deal with it. But running helps, even if it doesn't bring him any closer to where his heart is.In other words, Jamie decides he's going to run a distance equivalent to that from Liverpool to Los Angeles by the time Stevie comes home for good.





	1. Chapter 1

They didn’t talk about it, the times they'd woken up with tooth marks and a teammate, not a woman in sight.  
  
They weren’t going to talk about it, waking up warm, bodies happy for reasons their minds couldn't quite conjure up until the fog of unconsciousness finally faded.  
  
They were men of action, and so they acted on it, and that’s how Jamie Carragher ends up moving in with his best mate and boyfriend-even-if-they-never-officially-sat-down-and called-it-that. It goes well with Stevie.   
  
They do talk about it, when Stevie signs for the Galaxy, when Jamie gets a call from Stevie's mother asking if he can drop him off at the airport.  
  
"I'll cry too much," she confesses, sounding teary even now over the phone, "I'll just hold onto him and never let him go."  
  
Jamie loves Stevie's mother, nearly as much as he loves Stevie, so he agrees.  
  
But they don't talk about it on the drive, the drive to John Lennon Airport with Stevie's suitcases and his clothes. His most precious kits are staying, for the most part—he's taking one of Jamie's, and a few of his own old ones, but that's pretty much it.  
  
"What do you need one of mine for?" Jamie teases, "you gonna sleep in it?"  
  
"Bet you'd like that, caveman," Stevie returns instantly. "I might do, you know."  
  
"Yeah? Send me a picture, okay? Gonna be a lot of lonely nights here without you. And it's not like I can call you up before bed if you're at training."  
  
"You-you _could_ , J. Call me during my lunch, yeah? I'll sneak off to the bathroom or away from the lads and get you off, talk you through it."  
  
"It'll be risky, for you to do that at work." Jamie's voice is low, teasing.  
  
"Very risky," Stevie agrees with a grin, "but that's only gonna turn you on more."  
  
Jamie wants to respond, he really does, but he's caught up in the thought of it, Stevie in his training kit, sneaking off to the toilet so Jamie could have a wank before bed. It's Liverpool's training kit in the fantasy, because Jamie is horribly self-indulgent when it comes to his lad.  
  
"Or you could stay here and come over to mine instead. Get me off with your mouth, not just your voice. Or I could get you off with my mouth, too, I know how much you like it when I blow you, babe—"  
  
"We've lived together for ages! Until you went to bloody Sky, and Gary fuckin' Neville stole my fella right out from under me! I feel betrayed, lad, I really do."  
  
Jamie reaches over for Stevie's thigh and slides his hand inwards. "Huh. Betrayal feels like a boner."  
  
"What can I say? Subpar banter makes me hot."  
  
"Do you remember when you were in the hotel room and I'd just finished blowing you when someone knocked?"  
  
"Course I remember. You had a pillow on your lap and we all ignored that one of the beds wasn't slept in."  
  
“Do you remember Istanbul? Couldn't help myself that night. We'd just started, still in full on denial, and you were in my bed every night but you were gone every morning. Used to think I'd dreamed you, the first few times. Until I saw your bed wasn't slept in.”  
  
“Course I remember Istanbul, you looked gorgeous, nothing on but that winner's medal.”  
  
“Nothing on?! I was definitely wearing your kit, wasn't I? And backwards too, so you could see your name on me chest. Got you hard, that. Didn't realize what a possessive little shit you were until then."  
  
“No, that was the year after. FA Cup. What do they call that one again?”  
  
“You know very well, you twat. It's your final, and I made it proper special for you, too."  
  
They pull up to the departure side of the airport, and they sit in the car for awhile.  
  
"You're allowed," Jamie says quietly, "you're allowed someone else in LA, okay? I'm giving you permission. You have needs I won't be able to meet while you're over there. But be careful, okay? I don't want you getting hurt. You love so hard, Steve, I don't want you to get involved with someone who doesn't love you back just as much.”  
  
“You're allowed too. If you want Gary, you can, okay? Or if JT hits on you again and you wanna take him up on it this time.”  
  
 _I won't_ , Jamie wants to say, but he doesn't, because he doesn't make promises he might not be able to keep.  
  
"I love you, Stevie. I love you so much. Have fun in L.A., okay? Don't fuck too many actors or models. I wish I could kiss you goodbye." Jamie parks the car and they each get out of the car. Jamie helps Stevie with his bags. "Do you need help getting them inside?"  
  
"I think I'm alright, J, I'll get a trolley."  
  
It's quiet for a moment, and Jamie looks at his lad, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. "Do you have a sweater? The plane will be cold, Steve, you know that."  
  
Stevie shrugs, and Jamie reaches into his gym bag in the back seat and takes out a sweatshirt, an old Liverpool warmup of his, with his number and initials on it. "Go on, take it. I don't want you getting cold. It's clean, I just put it in there."  
  
Stevie takes off his backpack and pulls it on.  
  
"You look good.” Jamie smiles weakly at him. “But then, you always do in my clothes, love."   
  
It's quiet for a moment, and then Jamie steps forward and wraps his arms around Stevie, holding him tight. Stevie turns his head and kisses his neck, a quiet secret kiss that nobody will see, and Jamie’s arms tighten around him and he can hear Jamie’s breath hitching, unsteady.   
  
"I'll watch your matches." It’s the closest Jamie can come to saying I love you in public. _I love you. I love you and I’ll watch your matches just to see your face before I fall asleep, and I’ll miss waking up to you_.  
  
"Come out to see me sometime. I'd love to have you around, J. We could go out, get coffee, go to the beach... You could get a tan. You know how good you look with a tan...”  
  
Jamie nods and lets him go, stepping back and clearing his throat.  
  
“You've got to go.” It’s not just about him missing his flight—it is, a bit, but there’s more than just that. It’s about Jamie saying _I understand_. It’s about him saying _I know._  
  
 _This isn’t like the others who left. This isn’t like Michael. Or Xabi. Or Fernando. Or Luis. I know you have to._  
  
 _And I love you anyway_.  
  
Jamie drives back home and doesn't do what he feels like doing, which is pulling on one of Stevie's old kits and going to sleep. He goes running instead.  
  
He looks it up on his phone. It’s five thousand, two hundred sixty miles from Liverpool to Los Angeles.  
  
He runs eight the first day.  
  
Another eight the next day.  
  
Five on day three—he goes as far as he can, but he’s cramping horribly by four and a half, and this isn’t Istanbul, there’s no reason to keep going. Not when Stevie isn’t getting any closer. He lets himself sit down on a strip of grass next to the pavement, covering his eyes as his legs tremble and spasm. If you asked him, he would just say the cramps hurt. That was why he was sitting on the ground and crying. It just _hurt_.  
  
He runs ten miles the next day to make up for it. Every night he goes home and records his distances in a little book he buys especially for this purpose. He keeps the book under Stevie’s pillow.  
  
He’s not used to it, the running. He’s fit, but he’s never liked long-distance running. He’d never liked running at all, actually, thought it was pointless unless he had a ball at his feet.  
  
He hires a running coach, this guy named Ian who looks like a normal guy from the chest up, but has the most intense legs Jamie’s ever seen outside the locker room. He tells Ian he wants to run five thousand miles in a year.  
  
Ian looks at him, looks into his eyes, and wonders what broke him.  
  
“I’m going to give a million quid to charity if I can do it,” Jamie says quietly, “I’m already a week in. The deadline is next fall. October at the earliest. November at the latest.”  
  
“Give me a couple days to come up with a plan.” Ian says, jaw set, and he can do it, Jamie knows he can. It’s written all over his face. A million quid to charity? Ian’s a good-hearted man. And this could be a glorious achievement. To coach someone to that level of fitness…  
  
The running wears at him. Ian creates a schedule that has him running at least seven miles a day. He has a day off every two weeks, and Jamie Carragher, former Liverpool center back, quietly signs up for a few marathons. He doesn’t tell anyone about it, knows that if he explains why he wants to run 5,260 miles, his mother is going to stage an intervention, if not just outright commit him. Or maybe she’d just buy him a plane ticket and tell him flying was easier on the body.  
  
He’s careful with his body, hires a physio and visits a doctor every few weeks, just to make sure he’s still okay. It’s delicate, this. One stress fracture, and it’s all over. The human body can’t run that much that fast, and Jamie’s insistent on being competitive, running at a good pace.  
  
He has backup plans in mind, if it doesn’t work. He’ll swim—that might be more appropriate anyway, considering the ocean in between them. Or he might cycle, though that would probably feel like cheating. It would feel like cheating, if he didn’t do it himself. Just his body and the earth, or the water, if it comes to that.  
  
The runner’s high is the best feeling in the world, at least since Stevie’s left.  
  
He’s not allowed to drink anymore, and he’s on melatonin supplements instead of his sleeping pills, because it deepens his sleep, makes sure he has a decent chance of recovering every night from the day’s work. Ian is clear—eight hours a night. Nine is better.  
  
Every night Stevie has a match, Jamie arranges a seven mile run the next day—it’s just a little less than an hour. It’s his minimum run, and he stays up late with a single beer, sipping it slowly and coupling it with a few Haribo, leftover from when Stevie’d still been living with him. He’d nearly eaten his own weight in Haribo, after 2014. Jamie had hated that year for breaking him the way it did. He’d cried for a week, hadn’t been able to sleep through the night for a month. Jamie had flown to Brazil to be with him during the World Cup, just to be next to him, to hold him at night. And then England did what England did best—disappointed, and he was even more devastated, and Jamie’d bundled him up and taken him to America. Possibly the only place on earth nobody gave two shits about football.  
  
But he looks good on the television screen—suddenly worth every pound Jamie’d paid for ultra-HD. He’s tan and gorgeous, and Jamie can make himself forget how much he misses him sometimes, but when he watches his matches, he always wishes he was there with Stevie, telling him the beard is cute, but he has to shave it, or it’ll chafe Jamie’s thighs when he goes down on him.  
  
He wishes he could feel that scratch on his chin when Stevie kisses him.  
  
He always calls Stevie after, some fifteen or twenty minutes or so after his matches end, so he has time, to get interviews out of the way, to get showered. Stevie always picks up the phone, and it’s loud behind him.  
  
“Hey, love.” Jamie hears the uproar instantly at the endearment, knows it’s risky, but Stevie likes to call him love when they’ve been apart awhile.  
  
“Oh did you hear _that?_ Love! Who’re you talking to, Steve?”  
  
“Fuck off, Gio.”  
  
“Ah, Stevie-lad, who’s the pretty little lass you’re talking to?”  
  
“None of your business, Keano, I don’t snoop about when you’re talking to your missus.”  
  
“I’m your missus now, am I,” Jamie says, amused.  
  
“You want a ring? Is that what you want?” Stevie teases, and they both ignore the audible cheers from the background, “I’ll buy you one if you move out here with me.”  
  
“You really know how to charm a man, you know.”  
  
“Then say yes. Come out to see me.” Stevie’s voice is oddly serious, and he moves away from the noise, to various disappointed sounds.  
  
“California boys like their gossip, eh?”  
  
“Please. I mean it. Come out to see me. You don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to, but… I miss you, J. I want to see you. I always watch your shows, you know that? I record it, so I can see you. But sometimes… it upsets me, the way you and him work so well together.”  
  
“Don’t. We were never like this before. We never did the jealousy thing before,” Jamie says quietly, “I don’t want to become that person now.”  
  
“Me neither. I know I told you that you could—“  
  
“I haven’t. I haven’t, Stevie. I’ve just—I’ve been running a lot more. And your calls when you’re alone, that’s all I’ve had. Me own hand, pretending it’s you touching me.”  
  
“Me too. There—there were people, who wanted to, but I can’t. Ring or no ring, I’m still yours, J.”  
  
“It’s just a few more months,” Jamie says, taking a deep breath, “then you’ll come home for a little bit, right? Before your preseason starts? For a couple months, love, isn’t it?”  
  
“I don’t want to wait until then. It’s too long, J. International break? Please, baby. I need you. I wanna kiss you again. I wanna sleep in the same bed.”  
  
“International break,” Jamie agrees, because he can’t quite help it, not with his lad, “I’ll come over. We can make love for a week straight, and then we’ll have a day at the beach and then I’ll fly back.”  
  
“You’re making me blush, love, and I’m still in the stadium.”  
  
“Wouldn’t be the first time, Steve. Go be with the rest of the lads, okay? Love you.”  
  
“Love you too, J. Thank you for calling.”  
  
Jamie goes out and runs fifteen miles the day after he talks to Stevie, doesn’t even feel tired at the end of it, and considers running another five, until he gets on the phone and Ian shouts at him for throwing off his schedule.  
  
“I’m sorry. I just—I felt really good. I wanted to keep going.”  
  
“Runner’s high good or better than that?”  
  
“The endorphins didn’t hurt, but it was better. It’s just been a good day all round.” Jamie pauses, “I’m going out of town for a week soon. I’ll still run, but it’ll probably be a lot less. I’ll need to make up for it. And there’s a couple months… there’s a couple months that aren’t going to be great, I have people coming round, I need to spend time with them, from the end of October to the end of December, round Christmas time. I’ll still run, but it’ll be more like seventy-five, eighty miles a week, if I’m honest. Might get in a bit more, but I can’t make any promises.”  
  
“You can’t make it then,” Ian says seriously.   
“I need to. I need to make it, Ian. Please. I’ll do twenty mile runs two or three times a week in January, if I have to. Two runs a day, I don’t mind.”  
  
“Your body can’t physically take that on, Jamie.”  
  
“Yes, it can. I’ve been doing okay so far.”  
  
“You’ve only been doing eighteen on your max days.”  
  
“I’ve signed up for a marathon,” Jamie says softly, “I’ve signed up for a few. I need to get there. Paris isn’t until April. London’s before that, end of March. Liverpool, end of May. That’s over seventy miles in three days. Surely that helps?”  
  
“You’ll need to be running more marathons than that. And earlier, too. We’ll aim for one right before your week off. When is that going to be?”  
  
“Mid-September.”  
“And it’s August now, the twelfth, innit? How many miles have you run so far? Send me your records, mate, let’s count up and see if you’re on pace.”  
  
“I can’t be on pace. I’ve only been doing 80-odd miles a week. I need to up my longest run, add another long run, do twenty a couple times a week. Or increase the smallest ones to ten, at least.”  
  
“James. I’m the coach here, okay? I’m going to do my utmost to get you there, mate, you know I am.”  
  
“Ian. Mate. I need to do this. I _need_ I can’t explain it. I just need this.”  
  
“You should write, J. Or go running on dirt instead of paved roads. Marathons are all gonna be on asphalt, that’s gonna be harder on your body, mate. We’ll build you up a little quicker, try to get you into ultras. You can cover more ground, but it won’t be as competitive. Ultras are different. Slower, a lot of the time. People stop, take walks.”  
  
“I’m not walking. I want to compete.”  
  
“You’re not a professional runner, Jamie.”  
  
“I want to compete,” Jamie says again, stubborn. He wants to win, a little bit, but mostly he wants to compete, he wants to improve his times, he wants to cover the ground, wants to hit the ground after the finish line, wants to feel his legs quivering beneath him, wants to feel that high, wants to sleep for a thousand days and a thousand nights, until Stevie comes home again.  
  
“Galway. Don’t expect much. Galway is in a week. Your only goal is completing it. You’ll have to work on making sure you can keep taking in calories, keeping hydrated. We’ll have to prep you on how to get through it. It’s the next step though, you’ve done eighteen, haven’t you?”  
  
“A few times, yeah.”  
  
“If you’ve done eighteen, you’ve got it in you to do the full marathon. But no more drinking, no more cheating on your diet. No exceptions. Melatonin. Every single night. Ice bath, when you need it—you aren’t new to serious training, you know when you need an ice bath. If you need a night to stay up, you make up the sleep, J. And take the next day off, if you can. And if you can’t, call the physio to stretch you out in the morning. And take care of your toes.”  
  
“Is—is that a joke?”  
  
“No, mate. You’re going to lose toenails. It’s going to be really gross and awful. But you’re going to have to be a big boy and deal with it. And your feet are going to be in absolute shit after—terrible, terrible pain. If the blisters are too much, ask the physio, he’ll… strategically deflate them for you. And if he isn’t comfortable, the doctor will be. Or you’ll do it yourself, you don’t strike me as squeamish. Just make sure you’re doing it properly.  
  
“We’ll have to have you checked out after Galway, make sure you aren’t wearing too thin. You’re a young man yet, J, but you’re already got a lot of miles in your legs from football. Adding another five thousand over the next year… it’s not great. At some point running stops being good for you and starts breaking you down. And you haven’t got much fat on you to start with.”  
  
“It’s… it’s more than five thousand. It’s five thousand, two hundred sixty. That’s how much I need. I’ve got five thousand left to go. Bit less, really. Forty-eight hundred fifty or so.”  
  
“Well, that’s better than five thousand on top of where you are now, at least. Worse than I thought, but better than I was afraid of. Forty-nine hundred miles in ten months? Fucking hell, James, you’re killing me here. Are you sure you have to run every mile? You’re going to die if you try that much to get that much distance over this little time.”  
  
“It won’t be that I’m not running at all during my two months off, Ian. Just maybe… half as much as I normally will. And it’s not ten months. It’s fourteen months from here until the end of next October. Minus the two months off, which, if I’m running half as much, becomes like one month. So it’s like thirteen months.”  
  
“Your body is going to break down, J. Like never before. You should know that now. I can’t tell you how bad an idea this is.”  
  
“I need to do it.” Jamie doesn’t even know _why_ he has to do it. He just knows that he has to run the whole distance before Stevie comes home for good.  
  
“We’ll make it happen then.”  
  
He calls Ian three or four times a week, and texts him every day with his distance and how he’s feeling. He only talks to Stevie once or twice a week these days.  
  
He manages to call in a few favors and gets his name registered for the Galway marathon, showing up the next week with a tight Liverpool t-shirt, white with a red liverbird large and proud across his chest. It gives him strength, the bird on his chest.  
  
And he needs all the strength he can get, because he’s got fucking _petroleum jelly_ on his nipples. He’s already undergone careful body grooming to avoid unnecessary chafing. He’s got a small, light backpack with a water bottle and a few gel squares and protein bars that are meant to give him the calories he needs to push through his limits.  
  
He hasn’t told anyone he’s doing this. Not Gary, not Stevie, but people recognize him, in amongst the runners. Somebody’s taking pictures, and suddenly, people are donating money on his behalf. He can’t exactly tell them _not_ to, and it becomes a thing—people assume it’s just a really poorly-publicized charity thing. That or an early midlife crisis. Jamie shrugs and announces that he’ll match every pound they donate, and then, of course, people donate even more.  
  
His plans of collapsing at the finish line evaporate. He can’t. Not with people who’ll record it and post it to YouTube as soon as they get a half-decent wifi connection. He’s fucking _doing_ He starts near the front of the amateurs. The professionals get an hour’s head start on them, men and then women, and then the amateurs get to go. He looks down at his watch, headphones in and playing full audio match commentary of interesting and motivating matches, and when the whistle blows, he fucking _goes_. “Not too fast,” David screams from the crowd, looking at him anxiously, “don’t burn out.”  
  
He offers him a quick thumbs up and slows up his pace. He’s still near the front of the pack, but he’s trying to suppress his inner competitor somehow. The damn bastard wants to sprint to the finish line, and he half-thinks he can do it, too.  
  
 _Don’t get cocky_. That had been David’s number one rule. _Don’t. Get. Cocky_. _This is your first marathon. It is going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done._  
  
Jamie pauses the audio on his phone and pulls out his headphones, listening to the crowd.  
  
Five miles slip away, and then ten. His shirt goes translucent, though he’s not aware, mind focused on any thoughts other than the way his feet are pounding into pavement. He’s setting a good pace, advancing through the other runners pretty steadily.  
  
People are cheering him on, for the most part. There are a few jeers, but they work almost better than the cheers, actually, for making him want to prove them wrong.  
  
He pauses at the fifteenth mile water station and takes off his top, drenched in sweat, signing it with a Sharpie and grimacing as the signature blurs before handing it to a wide-eyed kid in the crowd wearing a Liverpool kit. He heads to the water station after that, manned by an adolescent who looks a little starstruck at the sight of him. He notes absently that it’s growing cloudier. At the very least he won’t have to worry about a sunburnt chest on top of everything else.  
  
“Thanks, lad,” he says, breathing deeply through his nose and drinking the water in three long draughts, as if he was chugging a beer.  
  
The kid nods at him. “Good luck, Jamie!”  
  
Jamie grins and takes off again.  
  
By mile twenty, he’s still feeling okay. Not particularly good—how could he feel good, after all? But okay. The pain is manageable, shoved into the lowest drawer of a locked filing cabinet in the back of his mind, each step reminding him of its existence.  
  
By mile twenty-two, he hates himself for doing this.  
  
By mile twenty-four, he hates Stevie for leaving.  
  
By mile twenty-five, he hates everyone and everything.  
  
But Ian’s there at mile twenty-six, telling him he’s doing incredible, reminding him to eat one of his little gel cubes to get a little burst of energy. Jamie does so, and instantly feels better.  
  
He crosses the finish line at a sprint, just to prove something to himself and immediately falls into Ian’s arms, registering for the first time the full extent of the pain he feels everywhere. He’s tearing up, for some reason, though he’s not properly crying. Maybe because he’s managed twenty-six point two miles in one day, maybe because he’s finally done it. Maybe just because for whatever reason, he feels twenty-six miles closer to Stevie because of today.  
  
“I—I need to sit down.” Ian guides him to a seat and sits him down. “I’ll be right back, get you a nice sandwich, some crisps, okay? Check your phone, mate, I reckon you might have a few messages.”  
  
“No, I didn’t tell anyone I was doing this,” Jamie mutters, resting his head onto the table and feeling the ache in his back.  
  
“No, but word spreads fast, J.” Ian presses a gentle hand to his back for a moment and then Jamie’s physio is there, working away at his muscles as he dozes lightly in the bright sunshine.  
  
Ian’s back a moment later. “I’ll get you home, J, but you need to eat right now. We’ll nap on the flight back, okay? You were incredible today. Way faster pace than I thought I’d set you. And with this little training? It’s a holy miracle you made it, J.”  
  
“I’m going to be sick,” Jamie whispers, getting up on unsteady legs less and lunging towards the nearest bin. He empties his guts into the bin, tears streaming from his eyes as Ian guides him back to the bench, handing him a bottle of water to swish round his mouth.  
  
“Sorry, mate, that does tend to happen the first time. Nausea’s pretty common.”  
  
“But I did it, though.”  
  
“You did. Check your messages, mate. You’ve probably got quite a lot of them.”  
  
Jamie picks up his arm and presses the button to light up the screen. Ten missed calls. Forty-seven text messages.  
  
The secret was out.  
  
 _Missed call: Mum_  
 _Missed call: Redders_  
 _Missed call: Stevie_  
 _Missed call: Mum_  
 _Text message: Mum: Call me. Heard funny story! :’)_  
 _Missed call: Gary Neville_  
 _Missed call: Stevie_  
 _Missed call: Stevie_  
 _Text message: Redders: Are you okay, Carra? Why a marathon?_  
 _Missed call: Stevie_  
 _Missed call: Mum_  
 _Missed call: Stevie_  
 _Text message: Stevie: Call me._  
 _Text message: Stevie: R u rly running a marathon?_  
 _Text message: Gary Neville: Are you actually running a marathon in Ireland on your day off???_  
 _Text message: Stevie: Y didn’t u tell me?_  
 _Text message: Stevie: I’m so proud of u._  
 _Text message: Stevie: Please call me. I love you._  
  
The other texts were from old teammates, mates from school or work or friends of the family. Stevie’s mother had sent a text, and so had his brothers, Stevie’s brother Paul, too.  
  
Jamie can’t take his eyes off of Stevie’s last messages. He’s proud. He loves him.  
  
Jamie is in complete and utter agony, physically, but his mind is completely ecstatic.  
  
David lays out a towel on the ground and Jamie lays on it as he makes the phone calls. Mum first, to tell her it wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a lookalike.  
  
His physio slips off his shoes, and then his socks. The white socks are red from where he’d bled through them. As promised, a couple of toenails pull away from his skin and stick to the sock instead, and the air stings against the open sores.  
  
He lays on his back and while his physio tries to ease the pain, Ian takes his feet into his lap, gently running them over with antibacterial wipes. He takes out some antiseptic and soaks some cotton in it, working gently at the places where the toenails of his last two toes used to be.  
  
“Blisters, J. Pop them or leave them? Leaving them is best, if it’s not too painful.”  
  
“Leave them, then. They’ll burst when they’re ready.”  
  
Redders and Gary can wait. He calls Stevie, and he picks up on the first ring.  
  
“Is it true? You’re grainy in all the photographs, and the fucking Galway marathon doesn’t get aired on telly. Was it you?”  
  
“Yeah, love. It was me. I told you I’ve been doing a lot of running.”  
  
“Yeah, I didn’t know you’d been doing that much, though! I wish I could’ve been there to see you at the finish line, J.”  
  
“Yeah, love, me too. How are you? Things are good over there? How’s work?”  
  
“Work? You mean training?”  
  
“Yeah, sweetheart, work. How is that going?” Jamie lets out a long, pained groan at a particular muscle being stretched, and covers his face.  
  
“Are you okay?!”  
  
“Fine, babe. Just the physio, he’s doing my legs. Don’t ever do this, okay? I’m cramping twice as much as I did during Istanbul.”  
  
“What made you want to do it?”  
  
“Dunno. Just felt like it, I guess. Jesus fuck, it hurts, though. Lost four of me toenails.”  
  
“Fucking _hell_ , J. Are you okay? Should I come home?”  
  
“No, love, I’m fine. Just—you know I love talking to you, but can we talk later tonight instead? At the normal time? My body’s kind of shutting down. I mean I’m fine, but I’m starving and everything hurts and I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been in me entire life.”  
  
“Course, J. I love you.”  
  
“Love you too, talk to you later,” Jamie just barely manages to stop himself from tacking on Stevie’s name to the end of the sentence before he hangs up.  
  
Ian and his physio get him up, soothing him as he moans in pain, and they bundle him into a taxi. They go back to the hotel and he has an ice bath, which helps, and then when he works his way back up to feeling like a shadow of himself again, they head to the airport.  
  
Ian suggests a wheelchair, but Jamie counters with the suggestion that Ian might go home in a coffin, and the idea’s dropped. Jamie leans heavily on Ian as they get onto the plane, and he takes his shoes off as soon as he can. He sleeps the whole way, and he’s only barely half-conscious when they land, until Ian’s hand’s on his shoulder, shaking him awake.  
  
They make it through the airport—no checked bags, thank god, and find themselves welcomed by a crowd of people, wanting to welcome home the hero who’d donated so much of his own money to charity.  
  
Gary and Redders and Thierry are there, and so is Jamie’s mum, tears streaming down her face, and his two brothers, looking incredibly impressed.  
  
His mother throws her arms around him and Jamie starts to crumple a little before Redders springs into action and wraps an arm around his back.  
  
“Go home with your mum, J. I’ll bring your car. Thierry and I drove over together, he can come to yours to pick me up after. Jesus Christ, I knew you were incredible from the first time I saw you, but I didn’t know you were _this_ ”  
  
Jamie smiles into his shoulder and lets his mother bundle him up into a car with his brothers, chattering pleasantly as he falls asleep. Redders helps his brothers get Jamie up and into bed, and Ian and the physio are staying the night in the spare rooms, for when Jamie wakes up in a whole new level of pain.  
  
He completely misses his phone ringing and sleeps through the night. And most of the next day, honestly. He checks his phone and has half a dozen missed calls from Stevie, accompanied by texts that are understanding and gentle and kind and just want to know that Jamie’s okay.  
  
Jamie calls him back as soon as he wakes up, not a thought in his head for the time difference. Luckily, he doesn’t wake until two in the afternoon, so it’s seven in the morning for Stevie.  
  
“Hullo?” Stevie’s voice is sleepy.  
  
“Hi, love.” Jamie says tenderly.  
  
“Jamie!” He suddenly sounds much more awake, and Jamie loves that he can picture him sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as if it’ll help him somehow see Jamie. “Jamie, tell me everything! I saw pictures, love, you looked incredible. Tight white t-shirt, soaked in sweat, god, it’s like you were trying to turn me on. And then when you took it off… It’s unfair, what you do to a man, James. How long have you been training for this? How bad do you feel today?”  
  
“How about I facetime you, babe? Then you can see me. And I fucking miss your face, Steve.”  
  
“Yes! Yeah, hang on, I’ll hang up and call you right back, so I can see your face, J, god, I’ve missed you so much.”  
  
They do, and Stevie’s face is barely discernible in the darkness.  
  
“Pull the curtains, mate, I can barely see you.” Stevie groans and agrees, getting up. The bright sunshine lights up his face—he’s got a gorgeous tan, the beard just the right length to be scratchy, but not bushy.  
  
“You look incredible, Steve. California’s agreeing with you.”  
  
“Yeah?” Stevie’s pleased with the compliment. He’s probably blushing, but it’s hard to tell under the hard-won tan.  
  
“Yeah, babe. You look gorgeous. Probably got girls all round you, trying to get into your bed.”  
  
“Little do they know I’m just waiting for my lad to come do me the honor of a visit, so we can squeeze three and a half months of sex into a week. But back to you, love. How are you feeling the day after?”  
  
“Shit, mate. Me physio and coach stayed the night last night so they could be there this morning.”  
  
“Let me see you. Give me the whole head to toe, love.”  
  
Jamie rolls his eyes and pulls the duvet away from his body, reversing the camera so Stevie can see his feet.  
  
“Jesus, have you lost toenails?! That wasn’t a joke?”  
  
“Yeah, a couple off each foot. Apparently it happens a lot to marathon runners.” He pans up his legs and strategically pauses on his morning wood before he pans up to his chest and turns the camera back.  
  
“Still a tease, then. I’d take care of that for you if I could, you know.”  
  
“You still could,” Jamie says softly, “show me yours.”  
  
Stevie’s definitely blushing now, and he reverses his camera, showing him the bulge in his pants, slightly more than half-hard.  
  
“For me?” Jamie asks cheekily.  
  
“Who else, J? I only thought about you all day yesterday, you know. Dreamed about you. Thought about surprising you at the finish line, so I could carry you to bed and blow you as a reward.”  
  
Certain parts of Jamie quite enjoy that image, stirring in his shorts.  
  
“Let me see you,” he says quietly, “I need to see you. Touch yourself for me.”  
  
“Wanna see you too,” Stevie says, voice firm, “you’re sure your physio and coach aren’t gonna walk in?”  
  
“Locked the door last night, it’s fine,” Jamie says, “please, baby, I’ve missed it.”  
  
Stevie pulls down his shorts and boxers down to his thighs, letting Jamie have a good look at him, standing proudly erect. “Look at what you do to me, J,” Stevie murmurs. “How should I touch myself? Tell me what to do.”  
  
“Go slow, from the base to the tip, and then twist your wrist, like I do with my tongue when I blow you.”  
  
Stevie lets out a low groan as he agrees.  
  
“Do you remember that time you got that laceration? Let me see the scar, Stevie.”  
  
Stevie knows exactly what he means, and he pulls his hand away, focusing on a thin white scar extending for some four or five inches.  
  
“You know how much I love running my tongue along that scar,” Jamie says softly, “I wish I could now.”  
  
“You kissed it better. Damn inconvenient when we got to the victory sex.”  
  
“We had to be careful, didn’t we. So we didn’t ruin the bandages. Keep stroking yourself,” Jamie orders, breath hitching a little as he watches Stevie do it.  
  
“What about you? I wanna see you touch yourself, too,” Stevie whines.  
  
“You first, and then me. You can tell me exactly how you want me. Like I want you. I can’t even move, Steve, you’d have to do all the work. Blow me last night and ride me this morning. Always loved watching you ride me, makes your muscles look so fucking incredible—“  
  
Stevie lets out a groan and strokes faster, desperate little whimpers slipping through his lips, and Jamie can imagine it—those lips on his, desperate for more, as soon as he got inside…  
  
“I did it for you,” Jamie confesses, “the marathon. It was for you. I run for you. I don’t know why. I just—I run for you, Stevie.”  
  
Stevie moans Jamie’s name, stroking himself harder.  
  
Jamie doesn’t confess everything, though—not the 5,260 miles, not the fact that he’s going to finish it if it kills him. Not the fact that Ian looks at him like a broken thing sometimes.  
  
“Your thighs, Steve—I love your thighs, so strong, so muscular. I love kissing up along the inside before I take you into my mouth—“  
  
“Fucking hell, J—I’m going to—“  
  
“Come on, love. Finish for me. Pretend you’re coming in my mouth, Stevie—“  
  
Stevie gasps and comes incredibly hard.  
  
“Fuck, I’ve missed your voice, J. I’ve missed it so much.” Stevie’s breathing raggedly, recovering from the orgasm. “Now you. Let me see you.”  
  
Jamie pulls himself out of his boxers and strokes himself slowly, smearing precome across the tip.  
  
“Look at me, Stevie. Look how hard I am for you.”  
  
"You're so big," Stevie moans, "I wish you were inside me--I wank, sometimes, with my fingers inside me, pretending it's you, and it's never enough. I-I get off, but it's never as good as it is with you."  
  
Jamie goes a bit quicker. "Yeah? Tell me what you'd want me to do to you."  
  
"Want you to fuck me," Stevie says obediently, "want to come to you and have you take me against the wall in the hallway. Wanna do you, too, when I come home from an away trip and I need you. I want you to wait for me in bed, legs spread and completely naked. You can open yourself up, get ready for me, but that's it."  
  
Jamie can't take any more. The words wash over him and they're in Stevie's _captain_ voice that Jamie's always liked and Jamie hasn't wanked in _days_ , so he comes hard, laying back onto the bed.  
  
"I might—I might go back to bed?" Jamie yawns. His stomach growls loudly. “Never mind. Off to scrounge up some food. And you... I know you have to go to training and stuff. I still watch your matches, love. Love you."  
  
"Jamie. I love you too, sweetheart. And thank you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Thank you. You said the run was for me, so I wanted to thank you for doing it. Can't have been easy."  
  
"Fucking difficult, mate, if I'm honest."  
  
"I know. I'm guessing that's why you did it, though. Still trying to prove something. You've always been that way, babe. Going the extra miles in training, trying to earn your spot, as if you weren't one of the first names on the team sheet."  
  
"I wasn't always, y'know."  
  
"I know, love. But we had a good run. Look after yourself, okay? Don't want my lad coming to visit me with a broken leg or something. And make sure your muscles are proper loose, so we can have fun when you get here."  
  
Jamie grins at him. "I can't wait to see you. I love you so much. Call you later?"  
  
"J, I was just thinking... its quite late over there, isn't it? When I play? You should be sleeping, love. I love hearing from you after, win, lose, or draw, but still. If you're running marathons, you'll need your rest."  
  
"I get enough rest," Jamie says tenderly, "I don't get enough time with you, though. If I get too tired, I'll start recording matches and watching them back, okay? And that way, I'll still get to see them. And I'll call you when you're free."  
  
"I'll see you in a few weeks, love. Take care."  
  
Jamie blows him a kiss and catches sight of Stevie's brilliant smile before he hangs up.  
He drags himself to the bathroom to clean up, and then downstairs to the kitchen for food, and to see if Ian and the physio had left already.  
  
But no, they're sat in the living room, watching telly.  
  
"Hullo, lads."  
  
"You feeling like shit this afternoon, J?" Ian asks, clearly expecting an affirmative.  
  
"Nah, mate. I mean, me body's knackered, but I'm in a really good mood, actually. Had a call off an old mate this morning.”  
  
“Yeah? You look great, for someone who’s got ten toes and six toenails.”  
  
“Lie down,” the physio orders, nudging Ian to the other sofa. He works at Jamie’s muscles, stretches them, massages them, tries to get them feeling half-normal again. It’s almost more agonizing than the marathon had been. Jamie closes his eyes and rests his head in his hands and thinks about Stevie, which is a dangerous balance between thinking about the man he loved, and _not_ thinking about what they’d just done on the phone together.  
  
He’s half-asleep again, daydreaming about Stevie kissing him on the beach, when the physio clears his throat. When he opens his eyes, Ian’s holding out a plate of eggs and toast and it’s everything he’s ever wanted in life. He sits up and thanks him.  
  
“You’ve really gone above and beyond, Ian. You really didn’t have to do this. I appreciate it, mate. A lot.”  
  
“We’ve got to be careful with you, J. First marathon is the hardest, by far, and recovery is going to be crucial, if you want to make it to that final goal. Now, budge up. I heard you like X Factor? Please tell me that’s just tabloid bullshit, James.” Ian’s grinning as he hands Jamie the plate and sits next to him.  
  
“Nope. Love it. Used to watch it with… me ex. Awhile ago. We both love it. Used to place little bets on it. Who does the dishes, who buys dinner, who takes the bins out, that sort of thing. Brilliant show. Vote for our favorites, too.”  
  
If Ian notices the hesitation or the present tense when Jamie talks about his ex and their wagers, he doesn’t say anything.  
  
“When’s the next marathon?” Jamie asks, with a bravado that he maybe doesn’t quite fully feel.  
  
“They’re mostly on weekends, so I’m going to schedule most of yours for international breaks, if that’s okay? You said you were taking a week out in September?”  
  
“Yeah, going to visit an old friend for the week of international break.”  
  
“Right, so then we’ll aim for a marathon-length run before you go, okay? It won’t be an official marathon, but you’ll get the mileage. And then the next international break is in October, we can get you two weekends during that time. I’m not sure you can run two in two weeks, but we’ll put you in for one each weekend and then I’ll see what we can do, get you through the first and then see how you’re feeling. But right now, I think we do one marathon length run every couple of weeks, ten days, something like that? That’ll help you cover some decent mileage.”  
  
“I tend to recover well. I can do two in two weeks.”  
  
“That’s not until October. For right now, let’s work on one every two weeks, we’ll do one before you go away. When you get back we’ll bump it up to one every ten days or so. We need to train, too. We won’t be able to run the courses much because you’ll need to rest, but we’ll need to sketch out a training plan, so you don’t go too fast on the flats. Try to keep a steady pace, J, okay?”  
  
Jamie pays attention, nodding along and listening as Ian sketches out the route of the Galway marathon, pointing out parts where Jamie’d done well, and other parts where he hadn’t done so well.  
  
“If you wanna hold on to your muscle mass, especially in your arms and chest, you’d better start lifting, too, or else your body will start to break down the muscle you’re not using to build more in your legs. You’ll get skinny and have nothing above the waist, and I’m guessing you don’t want that.”  
  
Jamie sighs and mentally adds in weight lifting sessions for his upper body, penciling them in for days off and days when he has light runs, just an hour or an hour and a half. Stevie likes his arms and chest, after all.  
  
“I want to run Istanbul. I checked. It’s in November. I have the time off—it’s during international break. And I know it’s during my two months off. But I have to run it. It’s Istanbul. It just feels right.”  
  
Ian looks at him, then, eyes all soft. “Course it does. _It’s_ _Istanbul_. You better keep up your training then, even on your time off. You can cut it, a bit, but you need to keep those long runs in, or you’ll lose it. Your muscles will hold up, just like they did this time. It’s just that your head has to hold up too.”

  
Jamie nods. November. Stevie might be home by then. Maybe they could go together. He could be at the finish line, waiting for Jamie. It would be perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie finally gets a chance to visit. Few things could be better, as far as Stevie is concerned. 
> 
> (In which a long-distance couple does what a long-distance couple does when they're reunited)

The thing about twenty-six (point two) miles, is that it always hurts. It’s not like ten, where you can get used to it after awhile. It just… always hurts. There’s a point in every single long run where Jamie feels like quitting and calling a cab, or breaking down and phoning Stevie so he can tell him everything and have Stevie tell him he loves him, even if he is a fucking idiot.

  
He can almost hear Stevie’s voice saying the words. _Stop it. Right the fuck now. You’re not playing anymore. You don’t have anything to prove. You’ve never had anything to prove. Not to me, J. You don’t have to earn me, love. I’m already yours._  
  
Jamie tells himself that Stevie wouldn’t understand. He has football to fill his days. Jamie keeps running.  
  
He ignores the thought that the running isn’t getting him any closer to the city of angels.  
  
He’s leaving on the thirtieth of August for LA. It’s a full day of matches, and he’s flying out at night, to arrive in LA just before midnight. There’s a stop in New York, pretty quick, and then onwards to LA.  
  
Jamie arranges his last long run—and his only one, since Galway, for August 28, on the Friday, and by the time he does that and decompresses quickly on Saturday before work—his physio is a fucking miracle worker—he’s covered another hundred and fifty-one miles.  
  
Ian’s really happy, even a little awed at his progress. It’s still tight, on whether they can manage a finish or not, but if he can manage a long run every week, and does a tiny little three or four miles the next day, he’ll be in really good shape. As of now, though, he’s taking the day before a long run off, and the day after, so it might be doing him more harm than good.  
  
Ian gives him a hug after he’s finished, even though he’s dripping with sweat. He also gets a stern warning not to stray too far off his dietary plan for the week, and to get a few runs in if he can—even if it’s just five or six miles a day. Jamie doesn’t make any promises, but he is planning on it—though LA will be hot, and Stevie will want to have their time together.  
  
He wants their time together too.  
  
United beat Liverpool the day he flies out, 3-1, which leaves a bad taste in Jamie’s mouth. Going through airport security and dealing with fans while trying to catch his flight on time doesn’t exactly help, though he does calm down a bit when he gets on the plane and texts Stevie that he’s leaving.  
  
_I can’t wait to see you, J! <3_ comes the instant response.  
  
Jamie smiles stupidly at his phone, bad mood completely forgotten, and sends a heart back before turning his phone off. He can’t sleep right away, so he watches a few films. After that, he puts on Phil Collins. He only has it on his phone because Stevie’d put it on there, and he’d kept it in a playlist he’d creatively named _Stevie’s Favorites_.  
  
He drifts off just as _In the Air Tonight_ starts playing, and he doesn’t wake until they land.  
  
He’s a little disoriented when he wakes up, in the way that he’s always a little disoriented when he wakes up, but it matters more because everyone around him is focusing on getting their bags and getting out of the plane. He stands and stretches, just barely avoiding smacking his head on the little personalized vents, pulling his carryon out of the overhead bin and getting ready to leave.  
  
He goes through customs, answering all sorts of questions about business or pleasure, admitting to carrying chocolates—Stevie’d complained that the American ones he’d tried were awful—but no other food stuffs, and he’s let through, and Stevie is standing there at the arrivals, looking as gorgeous as ever, in a t-shirt and shorts. Jamie grins as he catches sight of him and he quickens his pace, not quite running but almost. Stevie has no such reservations, running over to embrace him in a tight hug.  
  
“Hey, love,” Jamie says softly, cupping Stevie’s face, brushing his thumb against that stubble, rougher than he’d imagined.  
  
“Hiya, Jamie.” Stevie’s either bashful or clingy, the way he holds on to Jamie and doesn’t seem to want to let go.  
  
It’s dark out, a couple stars shining as Stevie takes Jamie’s bag and leads him to the car.  
  
“You look really good. The Hollywood tan suits you, babe. And that scruff, oh, I’m going to have _fun_ with that. Probably starting tomorrow morning.”  
  
“Yeah?” Stevie drives with one hand on the wheel and one on Jamie’s leg, rubbing gentle circles into the muscles of his thigh.  
  
“Yeah, but first I’m gonna need you to feed me, Steve. I’m starving.”  
  
“Oh yeah? I’ve got something for your mouth—“  
  
“Stevie, it’s been a couple months since we’ve seen each other, so I’m gonna go ahead and ignore the fact that you just hit on me with all the prowess of a _fifteen year old_. Just get me something to eat, and we’ll go home, make love, and go to bed.”  
  
“Not waiting until tomorrow then?”  
  
“How can I, with that face on you? Your _mouth_ , Steve, it’s so gorgeous, it’s physically hurting me not to kiss you right this _second_ —”  
  
Stevie grins at that, pulls into In-n-Out, and orders for himself and Jamie. Jamie giggles at the way he slows down and overenunciates to make himself more comprehensible. “You’ll love it, baby, I promise.”  
  
“And if I don’t, then what? Will you blow me?”  
  
“Fucking hell, mate, I’ll blow you anyway. I _like_ having you in me mouth.”  
  
“I’m not that hungry anymore,” Jamie says firmly, “let’s just go to bed. We can have food after.”  
  
They pick up the food and Stevie drives home, to his little house, just off the beach.  
  
As soon as they’re inside, Stevie takes the food and put it on a table just by the entrance, pushing Jamie against the door and kissing him.  
  
“I’ve missed you. _Fuck_ , J, I can’t tell begin to you how much I’ve missed you.” He kisses him again and again, and Jamie’s in heaven, here with Stevie’s body against his.  
  
“Take me to bed. _Please_ , take me to bed, Stevie. I’ve missed you so much. I want to be with you again.”  
  
Stevie pulls away from him, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs, kissing him and walking backwards into his room.  
  
He takes off his shirt and comes close to kiss Jamie again and tug his shirt over his head too.  
  
“Holy shit, J—“ Stevie’s staring at him, as if he hadn’t seen him shirtless every day for over a decade.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You look incredible, _Jesus_ —have you been lifting? Just running doesn’t give you _that_ —“  
  
Jamie grins and leans forward, kissing Stevie again, fingers just sliding under his waistband. “You should see my legs, babe.”  
  
“How—how do you want me?”  
  
Jamie kisses him again, pushing his sweats down around his ankles, followed by his boxers. Stevie’s hands are on him, too, and by the time they fall into bed, they’re both naked, hard and pressed against each other.  
  
Stevie spreads his legs immediately. “For now, J, I need you. I can—later. Tomorrow. Maybe even later tonight, because it’s _you_ , and you cut my recovery time in _half_ , but right now, I just—need to _feel_ ”  
  
Jamie reaches down and brushes a hand against Stevie’s cheek, feeling the coarse hair.  
  
“Do—do you not like it? I can shave it off, I don’t mind—“  
  
“I love it, Steve. I like how it looks on you. It’s just different. Might take me a bit to get used to it.”  
  
Jamie kisses him again just to reinforce how much he loves the scruff.  
  
“Please, J? I need you to fuck me.”  
  
Jamie reaches over to the nightstand, pulls out a condom and lube.  
  
“No. No condom,” Stevie say softly, “I want to feel you. I want you to feel me. I haven’t been with anyone else.”  
  
“Me neither.” Jamie tosses the condom back onto the nightstand and focuses on opening Stevie up.  
  
He still knows his body just as well, finds his prostate just as easily. Of _course_ he still knows his lover’s body, it hasn’t changed, but—he’d been afraid, somehow, that he’d lose his touch.  
  
He hasn’t, going off of the way Stevie’s arching into the touch.  
  
He slicks himself up quickly and pushes inside, and Stevie’s moaning his name already. “Fuck, J, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed feeling so full, you should just—just _stay_ , Jamie—“  
   
“I’m yours all week, Stevie,” Jamie says fervently, kissing him through it, “I’m yours always, but we have this week together.”  
   
Stevie’s eager—he’s always been eager when they’ve been apart, and they’ve never been apart this long before, not since they’d met.  
   
“We have light training this week. Come with me. Meet the boys.”  
   
"Can we wait until I'm done fucking you to make plans?" Jamie teases, and it's beautiful, the way Stevie smiles at him for a second before Jamie leans down and kisses him again.

  
"Okay," Stevie says, sounding dazed and clinging to Jamie's shoulders, short, blunt nails digging into the skin.  
  
Jamie fucks him slowly, making love to him as tenderly as he can, and Stevie absolutely _unravels_ under him, back arching beautifully as all sorts of filthy sounds slip between his parted lips and swim into Jamie's ears.  
  
But he can't hold off forever, and he reaches between them to take hold of Stevie's cock, jerking it slowly at first but quickening his pace soon after.  Stevie finally comes with a hoarse cry of Jamie's name—"oh, _J_ —"  
  
He squeezes around Jamie so tight and it's been so long since he's felt this that Jamie comes too, thrusting desperately into Stevie.  
  
He pulls out slowly and lets Stevie pull him close, warm semen smearing across both their bellies.  
  
"God, I've missed you, J. Missed my fella. This bed's too big for one."  
  
Jamie nestles his nose against Stevie's neck. "Perfect size for two, though. And that's how many will be in it for the next week, love."  
  
Stevie brushes a hand through Jamie's hair and looks at him, something intense and passionate in his eyes.  
  
"Stay here with me. It's nice, we can just be normal people. Normal rich LA people. Go out for groceries, kiss in public..."  
  
Jamie wraps an arm around Stevie's middle. "I'm under contract, love, or you know I'd never leave you. But the studio's in London. And it's kind of a long commute, from here to there."  
  
Stevie doesn't smile even a little bit. He just takes Jamie's hand in his and reaches over for the nightstand, opening the drawer to pull out a small velvet box.  
  
"You don't have to answer right now," he says softly, "but I do want to, J. I want to, if you agree. This—it's not an ultimatum, I'm not saying we have to get married or we're breaking up—I just—" He breaks eye contact for a second, looking away before his eyes find Jamie's again.  
  
"I just miss you _so much_ when you're not here. Feel so empty inside. Like there's no point to coming back to the house. Doesn't feel like home. I just don't ever want to be without you again. I can handle away trips. But months and months without you is fucking _hell_."  
  
Jamie leans down and kisses him. "I'd love to. I desperately want to, Stevie. Let's."  
  
Stevie beams up at him. "Wait, let me propose properly."  
  
Jamie grins. "Right, go on, then."  
  
Stevie rests a hand low on Jamie's back, pulling them close together. "I love you, Jamie Carragher. You're my best friend in the whole world, I love you to absolute bits and the sex isn’t half-bad. So would you do me the honor of spending the rest of your life with me? Marry me, J. You're the love of my life."  
  
"I'm not gonna cry," Jamie says lightly, even though he can feel the tears coming. Knowing that Stevie had missed him just as much as he'd missed Stevie makes him more emotional than he'd expected. He holds up his left hand. "Put it on me, Stevie."  
  
Stevie slides the ring on, and it's silent.  
  
"We're engaged now," Jamie says wonderingly, staring at the ring and pressing his hand against Stevie's cheek so he can feel the cool metal. He giggles, even though he can feel his eyes welling up. “I just—I never thought we’d do this—I didn’t mind, I was happy being your boyfriend until the day I died—“   
  
Stevie laughs, low in his throat, and kisses him again. "Thought a ring might be better than stamping my name onto your ass so everyone knew who you belonged to."  
  
Jamie giggles and they spend a long time awake after that, flirting and laughing and daydreaming about their wedding and just enjoying the physical contact they'd missed for so long until they drift off to sleep.  
  
When Jamie wakes up, the first thing he realizes is that he's sticky. The second thing he notices is that he's engaged and in bed with his fiancé. Fiancé! What an foreign, incredible word for his own dear, familiar Stevie.  
  
He leans in and kisses the bearded cheek lightly before climbing down and taking Stevie's half-hard cock into his mouth. They've got so little time, and after last night, Stevie _absolutely_ deserves to wake up to a blowjob.  
  
He'd nearly forgotten the way his lad tastes, and he's appalled at himself for it, making up for it by sucking harder and longer until Stevie is moaning quietly in his sleep, fully hard.  
  
He wakes with a start, throwing back the covers to see Jamie there, looking straight up at him, all wide eyes and hollow cheeks and sleep-mussed hair. "James," he gasps, "I _love_ Love you so fucking much, love that fucking _mouth_ , oh my _god_ —"  
  
Jamie smiles, all in his eyes, and pulls Stevie's hands into his hair, letting him pull and start taking control until he's shallowly fucking Jamie's throat. It's been so long since he's sucked someone off, he's almost having trouble with his gag reflex again, but he forces his body to suppress it.

  
His mouth is so full of Stevie and it’s almost as if they were back at home, in Jamie’s bed, or in Stevie’s, or on the sofa, or in the shower, or any of the other places they’d felt suddenly compelled to perform sexual acts. He half-smiles as he thinks about the times they’d defiled the dressing room, or the time he’d sucked Stevie off while he was driving, before they’d had to pull over to finish.  
  
The familiar sounds of pleasure are comforting, somehow, a reminder that Stevie is his and he’s Stevie’s, and even the distance hasn’t changed that. He’d been afraid that it would, somehow, that Stevie would find someone in LA for a little bit before he came back home to Jamie. He’d been afraid that he might find someone else himself, too, just to hold him at night.  
  
But he’d never felt the need. Hugging Stevie’s pillow to his chest and smelling the faint remnant of his aftershave was enough. Stevie, here, now, in the flesh, groaning as he spilled down his throat—that was _more_ than enough. This was the stuff _dreams_ were made of.

 

Jamie pulls away, well aware that a drop of come leaks out of his mouth and rests on his lip as he swallows the rest.

 

“ _James_ ,” Stevie groans softly, pulling him close and licking that last little droplet away before kissing him. “I love how you taste with me in your mouth,” he confesses between kisses, “Reminds me that you’re mine. Otherwise, this all feels like a dream, you being here with me. I tell the lads about you, they’ve all heard stories, but it’s not the same. Can’t tell them the good ones, about the first time we made love, or our first kiss, or our _I love yous_ , or any of that. But you’re mine, and you’re in my bed— _our_ bed, and I’m so fucking _happy_ , J. You make me so fucking happy.”

 

Jamie relaxes against him. “You make me happy, too. That’s why I took you up on this.” He lifts his hand so Stevie can see the ring, and he watches the happiness light up his eyes, almost glowing as Stevie pushes him onto his back, kissing him. It’s intense, in a way that it isn’t always, but then again, maybe that’s what being engaged is like.

 

Engaged.

 

That’s _him_ now. He’s _engaged_.

 

Him and Stevie.

 

Engaged.

 

_To be married._

 

It almost defies logic, that he and Stevie are going to be married, and yet it’s a satisfaction of every dream he’s spent the last seven years pretending not to have. A house together, a shared bedroom every night. Matching wedding rings and being perfectly content sitting at home and watching X Factor, Jamie rubbing at Stevie’s aching feet.

 

Stevie could get a job on telly, too. He’d done some work with BT before he’d left, they’d pick him back up. Or he could try his hand at coaching the academy kids. They’d lose it, having a superstar coach like Steve, even without the fact that he was just incredibly nice and kids loved him.

 

“Do you wanna have kids?” Jamie asks softly, reaching a hand up to cup Stevie’s neck. “When you come back home again, would you wanna try for kids?”

 

Stevie pauses, thoughtful. “I’d like some,” he says softly, “but I think we’re too old to take care of babies. We’re lazy and we like having sex everywhere all the time.”

 

Jamie blushes, but it’s true. “I do remember that time on the kitchen counter—“

 

“And then we had my mum over for dinner and I could barely even look her in the face!”

 

They both break out into laughter, Stevie’s breath warm against Jamie’s ear.

 

“No babies, then.” Jamie murmurs, letting himself be kissed.

 

“A little boy? Maybe we could take in older lads,” Stevie suggests, “five years old, or ten, or whichever kid looks at us with wide little eyes that we completely fall in love with.”

 

Jamie grins. “It’s a deal. Might mean coming out, though. Can’t really adopt a kid with your best mate, can you.”

 

“Dunno, I’m going to,” Stevie teases, prompting Jamie to roll them back over and lean over him, pressing his mouth to Stevie’s neck.

 

“With your fiancé, love, not just your best mate.”

 

“You’re both, though.” Stevie’s painfully earnest, and it’s one of Jamie’s favorite things about him.

 

“I know,” Jamie says quietly, leaning down for another kiss, longer, slower, something for Stevie to remember when he goes back home and they’re apart again. “You’re both for me, too, love.”

 

Stevie hums, clearly pleased with his answer, and wraps his arms around Jamie’s bare back. “Glad you said yes last night, or today might’ve been awkward.”

 

Jamie laughs a little. “Come have a shower with me? And you mentioned meeting your teammates? I really should, lay down the law about how to look after you while I’m away. And make sure they all know you’re not on the market. Like. At all. You’ve missed your chance, Stevie-boy. There was that one month window where I was willing—well, not _willing_ , but I would’ve let you, at least—but that’s all done now. Now it’s just you and me, and you’re stuck with me, love. Until death do us part, and all that.”

 

Stevie lets out a quiet little giggle. “God, J, I love you. I just—I love you, so much. Stay here in LA with me. A year of just nonstop sex, except when we go training—“

 

“When _you_ go training,” Jamie corrects him, “us old folks don’t have to train, we can just eat whatever we like and laze on the couch if we want to.”

 

Stevie reaches a hand down and palms Jamie’s ass. “You don’t get this from lazing on the couch, James. And I really, _really_ love this, by the by. Keep running.”

 

“I was planning on it. While you’re training today, I’m gonna be running. It’s a couple hours, right?”

 

“Track or treadmill?”

 

“Neither, mate. Street running. Can’t train for a marathon on a track or treadmill.”

 

Stevie looks at him, really properly _looks_ at him. “Another marathon, love?”

 

Jamie nods. “I’ve got a few more lined up to do, yeah.”

 

Stevie’s eyes narrow for a moment. “Why?”

 

Jamie’s heart stutters in his chest at the question, and he’s sure that Stevie can feel it somehow, and he almost tells him everything.

 

Almost.

 

“Just like it.”

 

“You like running until your toes bleed?”

 

“Maybe _like_ is a strong word. It’s hard. Twenty-six miles is hard. Makes me feel good to do something hard. It’s something to work for.”

 

Stevie’s eyes soften at that. “There it is. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t some strange thing about not being attractive enough, or some other crazy idea you’ve gotten into your head.”

 

“It’s not,” Jamie says, even though it is, of course. _It makes me feel closer to you,_ he wants to confess. _I run to you, every single day. It keeps me from falling apart. It gives me something to do until you come back home to me,_ he wants to say.

 

“Come shower with me,” he says instead. “I miss shower sex. Miss everything. Even your awful voice serenading me. Sounds almost half-decent in the shower, with good acoustics.”

 

Stevie grins. “In my life,” he sings, voice low, “I love you more.”

 

Jamie flushes, because it’s sweet, and it’s not _new_ , but it almost feels it, after they’ve been apart so long.

 

“Come on, Lennon, or we’ll be sticky all day.”

 

Stevie nods and they walk into his bathroom. Jamie’d nearly forgotten how lovely it is to be kissed while the water warmed up, how pleasant it is to have his back pressed against cold tiles while hot water runs between his body and Stevie’s, warm and steady and reliable and everything he’s ever loved.

 

It’s the intimacy, the moment of quiet relaxation as Stevie works shampoo through his hair, the moment of tenderness when he returns the favor. Stevie doesn’t sing in the shower, despite Jamie teasing him for it. Not much. He hums. Quiet in the sound of water hitting tile, and Jamie has to get close to hear him.

 

He doesn’t mind standing close to him, though. He doesn’t mind when they get out of the shower and Stevie runs a towel roughly through his hair, not caring what a mess it looks, and he doesn’t mind when Stevie accidentally-on-purpose loosens his towel while they’re brushing their teeth, making it fall off. He protests halfheartedly, through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste, and Stevie laughs and everything is suddenly worth a hundred times more when he looks at his ring and then back up at Stevie and realizes that he gets to have this. He gets to have this forever and ever, once they get past this next year or two.

 

They get dressed, and Jamie grins at the way Stevie pouts—“I like you better naked!”

 

They get to the ground and Stevie parks and drags Jamie behind him into the dressing room.

 

“Lads, this is Carra. J, these are the lads, you know Keano already—” Stevie says cursorily before changing into his training kit.

 

Jamie says hello to the lads, hugging Robbie Keane, and surprisingly, Robbie Rogers, too. He waves at the rest of them, preferring to focus on Stevie.

 

But a few young players come up and start talking to him, shy at first and then less so, growing more enthusiastic. Jamie meets Stevie’s eyes, and he looks proud, for some reason, almost smug.

 

“Alright, lads, go find your own,” he announces finally, walking up and draping an arm over Jamie’s shoulder, “this one’s mine, and has been for ages and ages. He’s going running in a few minutes, so you can ask him any questions you want when he gets back.”

 

“Carra, mate, is it true that you ran that marathon in Galway?”

 

“Yeah, I did. They love the Reds in Ireland, don’t they, Keano?”

 

“You crazy bastard!” Keano crows, coming in close and pulling Jamie into a hug, “what made you do that?”

 

“Just felt like it, mate. Trained for it and I just—just did it, I guess.”

 

“Isn’t he brilliant?” Stevie asks, voice just a little too fond.

 

“Nah, he’s an idiot. Who’d run twenty six miles they didn’t have to?” Keano rebuts.

 

Jamie shrugs. “You’re probably right, mate, but you haven’t retired yet, you’ve got no idea how boring it gets.”

 

Robbie laughs and the lads go out to train. Stevie hangs back, waits until they’re all gone, and pulls Jamie in for a kiss. Jamie touches his training kit.

 

“I like you better in red,” he says thoughtlessly, regretting it almost instantly.

 

Stevie freezes, eyes looking wide and vulnerable.

 

He leans in for a hug. “Me too,” he whispers, voice barely audible, “me too, J. Love you.”

 

“Have a good day at training,” he murmurs back, nudging him away, towards the door and following behind him to find somewhere to run.

 

“Have a good run,” Stevie says quietly. “Come warm up with us first? I don’t want you pulling something.”

 

_I don’t want to be apart from you yet._

 

Jamie reads the words in his eyes and smiles at him. “Gimme a spare pair of your boots, then, and smooth it over with the boss.”

 

Stevie nods, pulling out a pair of boots and tossing them to him, absolutely beaming.

 

“Quit it,” Jamie mutters, “you’ll out us with that smile on its own.”

 

Stevie tones it down, but it doesn’t last, and he’s beaming again thirty seconds later as he asks the manager if Jamie can stay, just for the warmup.

 

There’s no harm in it, and so he says yes, and Jamie jogs around the football pitch and listens to the chatter of mostly-American voices and there’s a nostalgia about it, about being in a dressing room again, about warming up again with a team.

 

“I’ll stretch with you,” Stevie says, when they’re done running laps, before Keano interjects, demanding some time to catch up with an old friend.

 

“You didn’t even tell me you were going to be in town, Carra! Honestly, lad, it’s not that big a thing to just pick up the phone and call—how long are you staying then?”

 

“Just for the international break.” Jamie meets Stevie’s eyes for a moment. “Wish I could stay longer, though.”

 

Keano prattles on for a few moments as they stretch, and it’s never been quite like this before. Jamie’s never been so aware that he belongs to Stevie, and even as he talks to Keano, he finds himself grateful that Stevie isn’t usually the jealous type. He can still feel Stevie’s eyes on him, though, and his back feels warm under his gaze.

 

He gets up not too long after and pauses to say goodbye to Stevie before he jogs off, and stupidly, he wonders if Stevie’s watching him. He turns back to check, and flushes.

 

He is.

 

The run goes well, and he’s sore and tired when he gets back to the training center, in the way that he gets after a good, _long_ run, where he finds the pain and leans into it. It’s not a masochism thing, he thinks, but maybe it is, a bit, because he definitely doesn’t mind having the burn in his muscles, having learned long ago to embrace it.

 

He’s dripping with sweat when he gets back, and there’s a shameless ease about the way he strips off in the locker room, already topless when he can hear the Galaxy boys. That’s the thing with a group like that—you can hear them coming from a mile away. He considers pulling his top back on, doesn’t want to deal with the explanation of his scars or the stares or any of it, but then Stevie will like it, the way Stevie always likes when he’s wearing less clothing.

 

The door opens, and someone greets him carelessly as the men pour into the room, and Stevie walks over to him, eyes openly hungry as they stare at him.

 

“You look-“ he starts, voice thick with heat.

 

“How was training?” Jamie asks lightly, intervening before they’re forcibly outed in front of Stevie’s teammates.

 

“He scored a few worldies today!” Rogers pipes up, “you must be his good luck charm!”

 

Stevie grins knowingly, and he’s about to start responding—probably a joke about just how often he gets lucky when Jamie’s around—when Jamie throws him a look, exasperated, but still utterly, utterly fond.  


“I forgot how charming the smell of dozens of sweaty men was,” he says dryly, “I’m off to have a shower, then.”

 

Stevie strips quickly and follows him. The Galaxy have individual showers, with curtains that draw behind them, and it’s probably the most obvious thing in the fucking world, but Stevie follows him into one of them and pushes him against the tile, kissing him desperately.

 

“You look—god, I’m pretty sure my dick twitched when I saw you,” Stevie mutters, “’m half hard, even now. Beautiful, _beautiful_ man. The gray in your hair, love, it’s gorgeous. And the sweat, and the muscles, oh, I don’t know how I’m going to keep myself from just sinking down to my knees right here—“

 

Jamie enjoys the attention for a few moments, holding Stevie close, until he hears the sound of footsteps and panics. The footsteps are too close for him to shove Stevie out and make him get his own shower, so he pulls him closer instead.

 

“ _Quiet_ ,” he hisses, “shower with me. Don’t look or talk, and no _kissing_!”

 

Stevie bites his lip, aroused at the commanding tone of his voice, and nods, silently reaching past him to turn on the water. He promptly disobeys Jamie’s command, pulling him in close and kissing him slowly. He keeps quiet, at least, but he doesn’t seem to want to stop it. He pulls away after an eternity, looking at Jamie with a strange vulnerability in his eyes, almost asking for forgiveness. Jamie doesn’t say anything, but pulls him back, so close they’re nearly touching, chest to chest, and silently shampoos his hair, giving in to the intimacy of the moment and leaning in to press a kiss to his neck.

  
“Love you too,” he murmurs, too quiet for anyone to hear over the rush of the water. They scrub themselves down with soap, finishing after a few minutes. Stevie steals another kiss as he reaches over to turn off the water, and hands Jamie a towel, walking out first to see if anyone’s around before tapping the curtain to indicate that the coast is clear for Jamie to follow.

 

Stevie talks to a few of the Galaxy lads as Jamie finishes packing up his things.

 

“You must be really good friends,” Robbie Rogers says gently, “you seem happier when he’s around.”

 

“You know how sometimes someone just gets you? We’ve known each other so long, we just fit, I guess.” Stevie flushes, wondering if he’s said too much, and then hates himself for flushing at all, because that only gives them away more.

 

“I understand.” Robbie’s still smiling, but his eyes are serious, all of a sudden, scanning Stevie with something that almost looks like sympathy. “I really do, Stevie. Go spend time with your best friend.”

 

He looks over and Jamie’s smiling at him, a small quick of his lips that doesn’t normally make Stevie’s heart skip, but it all feels _new_ again.

 

“Yeah, I want to show him _everything_ ,” Stevie says fervently, walking over to him and waving at the rest of the lads as they leave.

 

Stevie asks about Jamie’s run and Jamie asks about training, laughing at the funny stories and quietly adoring him. He takes his hand as soon as they get into the car, and keeps hold of it until they get back home.

 

It’s sweet, the way Jamie picks up both their gym bags and brings them inside, the way Stevie unlocks the door and pecks him on the mouth as they walk in. Jamie tosses the dirty, sweaty clothes into the hamper and sets the bags down by the closet, ready for tomorrow, and Stevie collapses into bed. “What do you wanna do, J? What do you wanna see?”

 

“Let me take a nap first. I love sleeping.”

 

“Nope. You won’t sleep at night if you sleep now—I remember how you are.”

 

Jamie grins at him. “I’m on melatonin again. Ian’s orders. The man is an absolute monster. Makes me run until me feet fall off, nearly.”

 

“You two are close, then?”

 

Jamie hears the question and kisses him. “Not close like this. He’s just my running coach. It’s a close relationship, you know how coaches are, and its more intense when it’s not a team sport. But it’s nothing like this. I’ve told him about you. Didn’t mention your name, or that you have a dick, but I told him about my former partner, how we used to watch telly together and place bets on X factor.”

 

“Former partner?”

 

“Didn’t know what you were, then,” Jamie explains quietly, “whether we were together or not, whether you were dating someone here, a woman or a man or whoever. I didn’t know if you’d take someone else if I wasn’t around.”

 

“Good to know you’ve got that much confidence in me,” Stevie mutters, though his frown eases when Jamie kisses it away.

 

“We didn’t communicate well,” he says softly, “that was it. I didn’t tell you I wanted you to be mine forever. I wanted you to be happy, even if that wasn’t with me, so I let you go, and I didn’t realize that I was the person you needed to make you happy.”

 

“Well you are, and now don’t you ever forget it, James.”

 

Jamie smiles and leans in for another kiss, and another, and then a third. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Stevie.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important conversations are had
> 
> Inconvenient naps are taken
> 
> Late night pharmacy runs are made
> 
> And a future mother-in-law is informed
> 
> (not necessarily in that order)

The days pass like that, more or less. Sometimes Jamie stays home when Stevie goes to training, runs locally to see what he can see. They’d mostly avoided photographers, though there were a few of Jamie warming up with the Galaxy—the team photographer couldn’t quite help himself.

  
They’re waking up one morning, lazy and peaceful. Jamie looks at the ring and then up at Stevie, who's getting dressed, pulling on his boxers and a loose t-shirt. "Am I allowed to wear this out?"

  
"Course you are. You’ve never asked me for permission for anything before.”

  
“Nope, I _definitely_ have,” Jamie says, grinning lecherously, “I remember  _begging_ for permission a few times. You cuffed me to the bed, drove me mad with your mouth—Oh! And that time at the beach house in Spain, when you tied me up—“

  
Stevie laughs and shoves at him playfully. “You know what I mean.”

  
"I do,” Jamie says quietly, the weight of the words settling between them and setting something alight in Stevie. “I do know what you mean. I just— someone might ask about it. What do I say?"

  
"Say you're madly in love with your fiancé, love," Stevie says easily. He pauses a moment, smile slipping a little bit. “If that’s what you want, J. If you’re comfortable saying that. We haven’t talked about being out, really. I guess I got kind of carried away about the whole marriage thing—“

  
“It’s true, though. I am madly in love with my gorgeous fiancé.” Jamie admits, even if it’s more than they normally say. It’s the distance and the time apart—he’s gone soft. “But I don’t want to out us. Well. You. I don’t care about me, but while you’re still in the locker room—“

  
“Robbie’s in the locker room, too. Both of them. Keano would look after me, and his word goes pretty far here. And if I was anywhere, this would be the place. Only team with an out footballer, what’s another one, right?”

  
“People will think you’re dating him,” Jamie notes, feeling an unwelcome prick of jealousy.

  
“Not if we leak a few pictures of us making out.”

  
Jamie flushes. “When I’m kissing you, I don’t think about taking pictures. Can’t think about anything other than you, really.”

  
Stevie flushes. “ _James_ , you’re spoiling me.”

  
“ _Steven_ , you’re letting me.”

  
They smile at each other, reveling in the closeness, at the way things are so easy. 

  
“You should stay, J. Please. You should just—just _stay_ with me. It’ll break me heart when you go back.”

  
Jamie’s chest aches. “I’d love to, Steve, you know that. I just—I have work, that’s all.”

  
“Can’t you just— “

  
“Quit?” Jamie asks softly, “I would, Steve, but— “

  
“But the press.”

  
Jamie flushes. “Not just that. I _like_ Hell, I _love_ work. It’s brilliant.”

  
“Then I guess I could come back—“

  
Jamie sighs and pulls him into his lap, chest to chest, wrapping his arms around him. “Love. You’d never play in the Prem. Not that you couldn’t, if you were a different man, but you’re  _you_. You couldn’t play against us, babe. You’ve got too much heart to do it. And then... do you think the Championship is an option?”

  
Stevie rests his nose against Jamie’s neck, shaking his head slowly. 

  
“No, I didn’t think so, either. They’re so physical in the lower leagues. I’d worry about you. I know you’re strong, babe. But still. You’re my lad, and I wouldn’t want my husband to... pull anything. Especially not when I need you for... things.”

  
“Things?” Stevie grins and presses his lips to Jamie’s neck, savoring the warm skin, the smell of plain, clean soap. “I love when we do things.”

  
“I thought you might, actually,” Jamie murmurs, hand sliding under the waistband of Stevie’s boxers and fingers wrapping around Stevie’s half-hard cock. “So fucking gorgeous, Steve, I’ve missed you so much.”

  
Stevie lets out a soft, needy whine, so quiet Jamie feels it more than he hears it, in the gentle warm breath against his skin and the way the muscles in Stevie’s back flex, the way his hips push forward into his hand. “Missed you too, J. God, you don’t even know how much I fucking missed you. Used to wank to MNF, just because I heard your voice. Used to fantasize about walking onto the set and falling to my knees, pulling you out of your suit pants and sucking you right there. Neville could even watch, for all I care. At least he’d know who you belong to.”

  
“He’ll know when he sees my engagement ring,” Jamie whispers, not quite expecting the low, shuddering groan the words earn him.

  
Stevie presses into his hand even more. “Take off your clothes, love,” he begs, “wanna—ngh, I wanna fuck you, please—“

  
Jamie pulls his shirt off and lets himself fall back onto the bed, lifting his hips and letting Stevie pull off his briefs and loose sleeping pants, and he’s not even slightly embarrassed that he’s already hard.

  
Stevie parts his legs and Jamie has a moment of thinking his run tomorrow might not be as lovely as he’d thought, but he suppresses it the next second, desperate for this to continue. 

  
He feels the fingers, slick with lube, warm, because Stevie takes the time to make sure it is. One of them presses against him, and Jamie relaxes as it goes in, and moans when a second follows behind.

  
Stevie leans down and presses a kiss to his inner thigh. “You’re so beautiful,” he says softly—he’d always been a little more likely to say that sort of thing, and the time apart had destroyed whatever toughness he was pretending to have.

  
Jamie leans forward, abs flexing, and cups his face. “I _lo_ —oh, I _love_ you!” 

  
Stevie grins at the way his eyes close, at the feeling of his touch. “Had a dream that was like this, you know. You were there and it was just like this. I remembered it. Your skin.”

  
“You’re a creep,” Jamie teases, laughter breaking off into a gasp as Stevie scrapes his teeth along the sensitive skin in return. 

  
“It’s like I have you memorized,” Stevie continues quietly, “I could be blind and deaf and I’d know you by the touch of your skin.”

  
Jamie shivers. “Enough foreplay,” he says hoarsely, “take off your clothes, get up here and kiss me, and then I need you inside me.”

  
Stevie smiles and bends his fingers, brushing against his prostate one last time before pulling them out and slicking himself up. “Your wish, my command, J. Even if the captain’s meant to be the one who gives orders.”

  
Jamie rolls his eyes and silences him with a kiss. “You gonna fuck me, or aren’t you, Steven? Because I could go out and phone up a few people who could talk me through it until I get off. Or...”

  
“Or I could make you scream my name,” Stevie says playfully, “stamp my name right onto your cute little ass—“

  
“My ass is not  _cute_!” Jamie whines, “It is  _sexy_ , Steven, get it right—“ 

  
“It is incredibly sexy,” Stevie agrees, kissing him as he presses in. “You’re tight, babe, what’ve you been doing?”

  
“Not you,” Jamie answers, breath stuttering in his throat as he adjusts to the feeling, “not-not anybody.”

  
“Good,” Stevie says quietly, leaning down and kissing him again, more slowly. “Otherwise I’d have to buy you a collar.” 

  
Jamie groans at the words. “I _can’t_ —god, I’d _wear_ it if you asked me to—I swear, Steve, for you I would—“

  
“Think of the fun we could have, James. A plug for you after I fill you up, so you don’t let any of it go, you’ll feel it leak out of you all day long—“

  
Jamie groans. “Please—not the dirty talk—you’re all _talk_ , I need you to just fuck me, Stevie,  _please_ -“

  
Stevie can’t help but watch him, the look of open-mouthed pleasure on his face. He pulls out slowly and pushes back in. “God, it’s always like this with you, J—always just so incredible-“

  
Jamie lets out a strangled moan and pulls him impossibly closer. “Baby—my love, I love you, please—missed this so much—“

  
Stevie fucks him slowly, savoring every second of it. He holds him tight and sucks a mark into his neck, rather enjoying the small bruise. “There. That’s nearly as good as the ring. Makes me feel like you’re mine again. Nothing quite like this, like claiming you all over again— “

  
Jamie’s more vocal than usual—it’d been so long since he’d had this, and it’s so slow, but it builds and builds until he plummets over the edge, nails digging into Stevie’s shoulders as he comes with a hoarse scream. 

  
“Love you,” he mutters softly, exhaling in a sharp hiss as Stevie pulls out. Jamie’s still all blissed out, clinging to him and breath slowing back down as the sweat cools on his chest.

  
“Love you too, James,” Stevie says quietly, getting comfortable against his chest before laying down. 

  
“James Gerrard doesn’t sound half bad,” Jamie muses sleepily, pecking Stevie’s forehead. 

  
Stevie’s heart almost stops, almost bursts from the pure rush of _I love him, I love him, I_ love _him-_

  
“Yeah? What about Stevie Carragher, then?”

  
“Can’t. Still selling your shirts, aren’t they? And the pundits would get all confused. All except me. I’d just call you my pain in the ass.”

  
“Oi,” Stevie says mildly, “say it, and I might not go easy on you next time.” 

  
Jamie laughs low in his throat. “Would’ve left you by now if you did go easy on me, you know.”

  
“Nah, you love my cock too much,” Stevie says confidently.

  
Jamie laughs and runs a hand over his back. “You okay?” He asks softly, tracing the scratches, “does it hurt much?”

  
“Badge of honor, that’s all. The lads’ll take the mick, but as long as you’re not there, flashing that love bite and your engagement ring, I don’t think they’ll put it together. Completely worth it, love. Worth worse than that, even.”

  
“Glad to hear I’m still a good lay,” Jamie says, sounding immensely satisfied. 

  
“Good is an understatement,” Stevie mumbles, “I just wish I could stay here with you.”

  
He looks at Jamie’s body, long and lean, his flesh against the soft gray of the sheets, the line of semen drifting lazily down from his entrance. “God, you’re so fucking—it’s  _unreal_ , J—you make me wanna just stay here with you all day.”

  
“Then stay,” Jamie murmurs, stretching lazily, completely aware of Stevie’s eyes, glued to his ass and legs. He kicks up a foot, flexing his hamstring.

  
“Stop it,” Stevie orders, in a way that suggests he’d be sorrier if Jamie obeyed than if he didn’t. 

  
“Stop what?”

  
“You’re fully aware of what you’re doing to me right now, James Lee Duncan Carragher.”

  
“What am I doing?” Jamie asks innocently, arching his back as he leans up, letting Stevie see the mark he’d left. 

  
“You’re making me want to be unprofessional and skip training, that’s what you’re doing, you unfairly beautiful man—“ Stevie reaches for the spot, fingertips gentle as they press against the bruise, watching Jamie’s mouth fall open from the pain. 

  
“Stay here. It’s international break, for fuck’s sake. And we haven’t celebrated our engagement properly yet—I can still walk.” Jamie rolls over to show off his cock, half-hard from the teasing.

  
Stevie growls low in his throat. “You are insatiable, James. I am a _professional_. I’m the one earning the roof over our heads!”

  
Jamie bursts into laughter. “That’s because this is your house! Come back to mine and I’ll fuck you all night long and go on telly for a few hours a day, more than a few on Mondays-“

  
“You make retirement sound so fucking appealing,” Stevie says quietly, and his voice is just sorry enough that Jamie turns to look at him. He reaches out and presses his hand against Stevie’s cheek, callouses at the bases of his fingers rubbing against his skin, the beard softer than it looked.

  
“Don’t retire,” he says quietly, “stay here as long as you feel it’s the right place to be.  Whoever’s contract runs out first, they go to the other one. I’m starting me second year out of three, love. If you want to be here for another two years, I’ll move out, find an American network, whatever. And if you wanna come home before then, you come back to me.”

  
“And when will we get married?”

  
“Whenever you want to, Stevie-boy. I’m your lad. I’d fly over here just to have dinner with you if I could. We’ll get married whenever you want to get married. Might be best to do it when we’re living together again, or during the summer, if you want to invite other footballers—“

  
“I wouldn’t mind it being just us. We could go on vacation somewhere and get married and have a honeymoon all rolled into one.”

  
Jamie takes Stevie’s hand and intertwines their fingers. “Your mum’s going to be upset with you if she’s not there. And so are Paulie and my brothers. They’ll be so happy to have you as an official part of the family. Won’t be much different to before, mind, seeing as you were me date to every single family function for a decade and a half.”

  
Stevie smiles at him. “Should I really skip training?” He asks softly. Jamie’s face grows serious at the question. 

  
“I wish you could,” he says quietly, “but that not the man I’m marrying. You go to training, I’ll go running—if I can. Training doesn’t stop for either of us, does it. Just gimme one last kiss and you can go.” 

  
Stevie kisses him eagerly. “I’m the luckiest man in the world, no doubt about that. I love you. Be careful running, yeah? Don’t pull anything, I want you just as flexible tonight as you are now.”

  
Jamie nods, “might take a nap instead,” he admits, “I’ll run extra tomorrow if I skip today.” 

  
Stevie smacks his behind, gentle, but the sound still echoes around the room. 

  
“Go running, babe. At least as much as you can. And then hopefully you’ll be in the bath when I get home and we’ll drain some of the water and fuck in the tub again.”

  
Jamie shudders and nods, sitting up and stretching before absently pulling on a clean pair of Stevie’s boxers and joggers. “Kiss us goodbye, then,” he mutters, leaning down for the kiss before wishing Stevie a good day at training.

  
Stevie leaves the house when he’s just finished his warmup, just starting the actual run at a good jogging speed.

  
He rolls down the window and whistles at him. “Hey, nice ass!” he calls out. Jamie grins and waves him away.

  
He takes off and he finds there’s almost no pain at all. He manages a two and a half hour run, covering twenty miles and feeling well and truly good about himself. He lets himself back into the house and starts lugging ice up to the tub before he slides in.

  
He needs the ice bath for an hour, and after he drifts off, exhausted, Stevie comes back to try to surprise him. He steps into the water and lets out a squawk at the temperature. 

  
Jamie’s eyes open and he blinks at him as Stevie reaches over and promptly opens the drain, getting his hands under Jamie’s arms and hauling him upward. 

  
“You’ll catch your death, falling asleep in an ice bath like that!” Stevie snaps. He grabs a towel and starts drying him off, letting him lean in for a cuddle because he needs the warmth, for heaven’s sake.

  
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Jamie offers sleepily, turning to nuzzle into Stevie’s chest.

  
Stevie melts at the words and reaches for a towel.

  
“Wanna sleep, Stevie,” Jamie whines. 

  
“Shh, love, let’s just dry you off, and then we’ll go to bed, I promise.” Jamie nods and stands there, blinking slowly as Stevie dries him off. He pulls out a pair of clean boxers for Jamie to step into, followed by sleeping pants before facing the difficult task of pulling a t-shirt over his chest so he can be warmer. He guides him over to bed, where Jamie lets out a soft sigh and promptly falls in. Stevie carefully tucks the covers over him. 

  
“I hope you don’t get sick, babe,” he murmurs, crossing over to the other side of the bed and pulling Jamie close. 

 

“Doesn’t matter if I do. That’s part of the vows,” Jamie mumbles, “in sickness and in health. You’ll take care o’me.”

 

“Course I’ll take care of you, James. But you might have to delay going back home if you don’t get better soon.”

 

“Don’t wanna go home. Wanna stay. Be with you always. My husband.”

 

“Not quite yet, love. Nearly, but not quite yet. Now go to sleep, sweetheart. Get some rest, sleepy boy.”

 

Jamie doesn’t respond, other than by turning into him a little more. He’s already asleep, Stevie realizes, glad that at least he’ll be looked after here.

 

When Stevie wakes from his nap, Jamie’s stolen almost all of the covers and is still curled into him, body radiating a feverish heat. 

 

Stevie curses under his breath. It’s not ideal, but this is manageable. It’s been long enough now that they know how to take care of each other. He knows how to make soup (barely), with warm chicken broth and noodles and bits of chicken. He phones his mum just to double check that he doesn’t accidentally poison his fiancé.

 

“Mum?”

 

“Hm?” His mother has sleep in her voice, and Stevie grimaces and realizes she’d just gone to bed an hour ago. 

 

“Everything’s okay, mum, but J’s visiting for the week, and he fell asleep in an ice bath and now he’s running a fever. So I wanted to make soup for him.”

 

“Jamie’s there?” He can hear it in her voice, the weighted curiosity, “have you—?”

 

“He’s  _sick_ , mum,” Stevie says gently, reminding her of the relevant information, “but yeah. He said yes.”

 

His mother honest-to-god  _squeals_.

 

“Let me talk to him!” She demands.

 

“Mum. He’s sick. And sleeping. He fell asleep in an ice bath, the fucking idiot, and now he’s got a fever. This marathon training thing is daft, if I was there with him, I’d put a quick end to it—he’ll get a stress fracture if he keeps going like this, it’s ridiculous—“

 

“You’ll be so happy together,” his mother says quietly, “he makes you so happy.”

 

“I know. He does. But first I’ve got to get him through this cold, Mum, and he’s got a flight to catch at the weekend, with one day built in to catch up on his sleep. So could you just walk me through the soup so I don’t accidentally give my fiancé food poisoning?”

 

“Fiancé,” his mother punctuates the word with a happy sigh, as if a dream of hers has just come true. 

 

“Mum,” he says gently, “I’m really happy he said yes. I love him to pieces. Please tell me how to make soup so he doesn’t leave me for a better cook?”

 

His mother laughs. “He’d never leave you, love. Sickness and health.”

 

“That’s what he said, too.”

 

“Your broth’s frozen right? You’ll wanna defrost it first,” his mother says quietly, and Stevie can hear her smiling over the phone and suddenly wishes he could be there to hug her, “and make sure you break your chicken up.”

 

She walks him through the simple recipe and stays on the line as he makes it, taking the opportunity to catch up with him.

 

“How did you even know about us?”

 

“I’m your mother. I know things.”

 

“Mum! We didn’t start until I’d moved out of the house-“

 

“You practically moved out years before that. You were over at his all the time.”

 

“He was my best mate!” Stevie protests lamely.

 

“You’ve had a crush on him for years. You were a teenager, and you already had a thing for him. Used to just gush over him when you came home from training. ‘Jamie did this,’ ‘Jamie said that.’ He used to come over for dinner all the time, you used to go over to his—you were lovestruck, sweetheart. I don’t know, call it instinct, I guess. Your father didn’t know, and I didn’t say anything to him, I didn’t want to pressure you. But you showed up at your brother’s wedding with your best mate, love. At that point, the way you two were giggling and flirting the whole time—I didn’t have any more doubts.”

 

“I remember that,” Stevie murmurs, ladling soup out into a bowl and going back to the bedroom, “Paulie was so happy. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it—that suit Jamie was wearing, Mum, I couldn’t stop thinking about standing up there with him. He was the only one I could imagine being up there with. He’s the only one I’ve ever been able to see myself spending my life with.”

 

“Goddamnit, now I wanna kiss you,” Jamie mumbles, voice cracking. Stevie flushes. 

 

“You should. I want you to.”

 

“Nope. I’d get you sick.”

 

“That’s Jamie? He’s up now?” 

 

“Yeah. J, love, are you feeling well enough to talk to my mum for a bit?”

 

“Yeah, gimme.” As soon as Jamie gets the phone, he turns up the charm. 

 

“Hi, Mrs. Gerrard. How are you?”

 

“‘Mrs. Gerrard’?! How long have you known me, James?! Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“It’ll be Mum, soon enough,” Jamie says softly, looking at Stevie. It’s gorgeous and romantic.

 

And it lasts all of four seconds before the sneeze.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, “fell asleep in the ice bath waiting for your son to come home. It’s his fault, really, you should yell at him.”

 

She laughs sweetly. “You know he phoned me to make you soup, right?” Jamie looks over and sees the bowl of soup steaming.

 

“I guess he did. Guess there is a reason I said yes.” He sits on the bed next to Stevie and curls up against his chest. 

 

“I’ll let you go now, but when I talk to you next, I want the whole story, James, all about the proposal.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Jamie mutters, “we were in bed. He told me it wasn’t an ultimatum and I didn’t have to, and then he offered me the ring.”

 

Stevie pulls the phone out of his hand and puts it on speaker. “And then I told him what he meant to me and how much I loved him and actually officially asked!” The words rush over each other.

 

“Yup. And then there was more awful ridiculous flirting and all that stuff you’ve had to deal with from us for years now,” Jamie finishes, pressing his lips to Stevie’s cheek. “Oh, and now I just want to kiss him and I’m sick, so I can’t!”

 

Stevie’s mum laughs and says goodbye. “James, I fully expect a visit from you when you get home, I want to see my newest son.”

 

“Yes, Mum,” Jamie says obediently, flushing at how easily the word comes out, “take care now.” Stevie says his goodbyes before hanging up, and holding him close. Jamie drinks the soup slowly. 

 

“I’m sorry I fell asleep in the bath,” he mumbles to Stevie’s chest after he’s finished. 

 

“I know, love.” Stevie pauses, not quite sure how to say what he needs to say. “Are you sure you’re not overdoing the marathon training a little, J?”

 

Jamie goes quiet, half because he’s got no real response to the question. 

 

“I don’t miss you so much when I run,” he mumbles, a moment of fever-induced honesty. 

 

Stevie sighs and holds him tighter. “You’re here now, you don’t have to run anymore.”

 

“Yeah I do. Have to make up the distance,” Jamie says vaguely, eyes drifting closed 

 

“You’re making it so hard to be away from you,” Stevie whispers, “I wish I could come back.”

 

Jamie doesn’t answer, drifting off to sleep as Stevie wonders when he should give him some sort of medicine to bring the fever down. He considers it, but decides to wait until the morning, and maybe part of that is that Jamie’s warm and comfortable in his arms and that isn’t something he can take for granted. Not anymore, when the cold lonely nights are just a few days away.

 

He drifts off to sleep, too, waking to find Jamie pushing away from him. 

 

“I feel warm,” he mumbles sleepily, “‘m warm, baby, I’m sweating. I need a shower.”

 

“Can you manage on your own?”

 

“Yeah. Course I can. Wouldn’t say no to the free show, but I don’t want you getting sick, too.”

 

That only makes Stevie want it more, of course, and he wants to wrap Jamie up in his arms and kiss him and all the things he can’t do, when they’re five thousand miles apart. 

 

“Why do you have to live a million miles away?” He whines gently.

 

“It’s 5,260 miles actually,” Jamie says casually, digging through Stevie’s closet for some clothes. 

 

Stevie goes quiet, aching. “How would you know?” He asks softly, and the question isn’t how, or even why, so much as it is when. 

 

“Google, mate,” Jamie says carelessly, trying to avoid the conversation.

 

“And when did you look it up?”

 

Jamie doesn’t respond for a long, long moment. 

 

“J—“

 

“The day you left. The day you flew out and I gave you my hoodie so you’d have something of mine and I wished I’d had more things of yours and I looked it up just to know how far away you’d be from me. And it’s 5,260 miles. That was the day I started running, too.”

 

“I— “ Stevie pauses, looking at him. At his hand, in particular. “I think I wanna shower with you. And I think I don’t care if I do get sick. It’d be worse to not be able to touch you.”

 

Jamie’s expression softens and he walks over to him. “Let’s take this off, then,” he murmurs, pulling Stevie’s shirt over his chest. He’s gentle as he manages to get the sleeves over his shoulders and Stevie feels oddly compelled to return the favor, rising to his feet and helping Jamie undress, too. He uses one finger to trace a thin scar on Jamie’s chest. “I was so mad at you about this,” he confesses.

 

Jamie covers Stevie’s hand with his own. “You were mad at me? Not Pepe for running into me?”

 

“Don’t play dumb,” Stevie says seriously, “I know you chose to stay on. You stayed on, with a  _pneumothorax_ , James. If you’d taken another hit to the ribs, who knows what could’ve happened.”

 

Jamie could argue, but he thinks better of it. “It didn’t happen, though, love. I’m perfectly healthy, except for maybe a bit of a temperature. I know you were upset about it, that’s why I tried to be more careful going forward. That was for your sake, sweetheart.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind a baby,” Stevie confesses softly, sitting down and pulling Jamie into his lap, “I wouldn’t mind having a baby who called us both Dad. A little boy.”

 

“What are you saying, Steven? Do you want a son? We’re probably going to have to wait until we’re both living together again—“

 

“Whatever it takes, J. I want a family. You and me and baby. Maybe another kid, sometime. Only children get spoiled.”

 

“We’ll have our own football team if you keep adding kids at this rate,” Jamie teases.

 

“That’s too many. Two. Maybe three. Or maybe we could just adopt another each time the first ones get older and leave the house.”

 

“Oh,  _Daddy_ —“ Jamie teases.

 

It’s a joke and Stevie knows it’s a joke. 

 

But.

 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t have an effect on him, when he’s got a lapful of shirtless Jamie teasing him. 

 

“Shower, or—“ Stevie brushes his hand delicately along the front of Jamie’s boxers, “we could do something else?”

 

“Something else,” Jamie says instantly, “We have showers in England, there’s no point picking anything other than you.”

 

Jamie reaches between them and cups Stevie in his hand. “Can I have this inside me, please?”

 

“No, I don’t want you needing the ice bath if you get sore.”

 

“I’ll skip the ice bath. I’ll skip training, even. Can’t run when you’re sick. Or I could try, but I’d end up passed out on the side of the road, phoning you to pick me up.” His fingers toy with Stevie’s waistband, and it’s getting harder and harder to say no, even if it is for Jamie’s own good.

 

“James—“

 

“Hm?” Jamie focuses on kissing his neck, not quite kissing him where he wants it most.

 

“If I’m gonna fuck you, you’re gonna fucking kiss me,” Stevie orders, feeling Jamie’s body respond to his captain voice.

 

“Yes, sir,” Jamie murmurs obediently, kissing him, half mad with desperation. “I love you—god, Stevie, I just love you so much—“

 

Jamie’s feverish, but he’s fully aware of himself, even if he is a little more honest than usual. The distance and the running is starting to make sense, and Stevie doesn’t know whether to talk him out of it or hold him tight and never ever let him go. 

 

“My love,” he mumbles, shifting and turning them so he’s on top of Jamie, trying to make him feel as safe and cared for as possible. “Feel how close I am. You don’t have to run to catch up to me.”

 

Jamie flushes. “I don’t run to catch up to you,” he lies, looking away from him.

 

“I can tell when my lad is lying,” Stevie murmurs gently, kissing his neck.

 

“Don’t wanna talk about it, love,” Jamie says softly, pushing his hips against Stevie’s to remind him what they’re meant to be doing.

 

It’s been _years_. Years of the best thing Stevie’s ever had, years of being in love with his best friend and the wonder of being loved by him, too, and that’s how he knows to let it go for now.

 

“Okay, baby. Gonna look after you now, okay? You want me inside you?” 

 

Jamie nods, and Stevie finds the lube and pulls off his boxers to expose his erection. 

 

“Sweetheart, are you feeling well enough for this?”

 

Jamie nods, though that doesn’t mean as much when they both know Jamie’d do anything to get off.

 

“Okay, then,” Stevie agrees quietly. 

 

His skin is still warm, but not as feverish as when he’d stolen all the blankets, and he tastes of salt when Stevie kisses his neck.

 

“I love you.” 

 

Jamie nods, smirking at him, “I know you do. So take me, Steve.”

 

Stevie smiles at him, though the smile fades as he notices how flushed Jamie is.

 

“I’m going to go get you something,” Stevie murmurs, pulling away.

 

“This is a terrible time for presents, Steven!”

 

“Something to help with your fever,” Stevie corrects him quietly, “give me a few minutes, I’ll dig something up.”

 

“Or we could just wait until after and then you can give me a pill?” Jamie wheedles, pulling him back in and hooking a leg round his hips.

 

Stevie looks at him for a moment, pale skin already flushed and sweating, and struggles with the decision, but just for a moment.

 

“Take some meds and I’ll sleep with you,” he offers.

 

“I’m not even sick!” Jamie protests weakly.

 

“Then you’re not getting my dick.”

 

“Bring the meds here, then.” 

 

“That’s my good lad,” Stevie says cheerily, bending to peck his mouth before pulling away from him to run over to the medicine cabinet. 

 

He takes long enough that Jamie grows suspicious. 

 

“You’re not taking Viagra, are you?” He calls over, getting up.

 

“I don’t fucking need  _Viagra_  to get hard for you—“ Stevie snaps.

 

“I know that. That’s what made it a joke, Steven.” 

 

“Oh. Sorry, love.” Stevie sounds distracted, and Jamie follows his voice into the bathroom.

 

“Stevie?” 

 

He’s got a load of meds on the counter and he’s sorting through them. 

 

“I think I might have to run out to the pharmacy?” He says sheepishly.

 

Jamie sighs. “Stevie, you have the worst timing of any man _ever_. Can this not wait until after we have sex?”

 

Stevie clenches his jaw. “You need something. And it’s not just sex.”

 

Jamie heaves another sigh, disappointed but not surprised. “Okay. Let me get dressed, then we’ll go, and when we get back, you can make it up to me.”

 

“You’re perfect, and handsome and I’m so, _so_ lucky you’re mine,” Stevie says sweetly, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in close.

 

Jamie wants to pull away and make a face, but he can’t make himself forget how little time they have together, and he can’t make his body pull away. Instead, he finds himself nestling into the hug and sighing softly, as if he’s  _happy_  to put off sex so they can go out to the pharmacy to pick up pills that in all likelihood, he doesn’t even  _need_.

 

“Love you,” he says quietly, just because he can, and Stevie kisses his cheek before they pull apart. 

 

“Love you too. Unfortunately, I do think you’re going to have to get dressed,” he says gently, and Jamie pouts and reluctantly pulls on a pair of sweatpants over his bare ass. 

 

“No briefs?”

 

“Why, is that gonna be a problem for you, Steven?”

 

“Nah, babe, that’s no problem for me, as long as my semi isn’t a problem for you.”

 

Jamie’s surprised by the response and instinctively looks down, only to see that Stevie is indeed half-hard. He flushes, pleased to see the effect he has on his fiancé, and turns to yank a shirt over his head to cover it up.

 

Stevie grins and gets dressed too, pausing before they leave to pin Jamie to the wall and kiss him thoroughly, one thigh putting pressure in just the right spot for Jamie to grind against before suddenly pulling away. 

 

“You’re a dick,” Jamie mutters before he follows behind him into the passenger’s side of the car, after a quick detour to the driver’s side. He keeps forgetting that American cars are backwards.

 

“Your dick. And you’ve got a great dick, so that means I must be great, too.”

 

Jamie pouts. “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

 

“You say ‘yes, Stevie, you’re great and I love you and thanks for taking care of me even if I’m a massive pain in your ass.’”

 

“Yes, Stevie, you’re great and I love you and thanks for taking care of me,” Jamie says obediently. 

 

Stevie beams, and as he stops for the red light, he leans over and pecks Jamie quickly on the mouth. Jamie flushes bright red.

 

“Baby—“

 

“It’s okay. They don’t know who we are. Nobody who was looking at us just then knows who we are. That’s what it’s like here. I could pull over and suck you off in a car park and nobody would think twice.”

 

Jamie swallows, palming himself. “Do you wanna prove that to me?”

 

“Nah. We’ll buy you something for your fever and then we’re bringing you home so I can take you to bed. You always sleep better after sex.”

 

Jamie lets out an honest-to-god  _whine_. 

 

“You think I’m a pain in the ass now—“ Stevie teases. It’s the sort of thing Jamie would laugh at if he wasn’t painfully hard. As it is, he just squirms. 

 

“I might have to wait in the car,” he says meekly.

 

“Oh?”

 

Jamie nods. 

 

Stevie grins and parks outside the pharmacy, getting out of the car. Jamie waits a second, but follows anyway, hoping his erection isn’t too visible.

 

Stevie grins at him, and they walk close to each other, and now and again, their fingers find each other and tangle. It’s easy enough to find something to handle Jamie’s symptoms, though they do argue for a moment over the name brand versus the generic—Stevie is adamant that the name brand is somehow better, while Jamie insists that they’re exactly the same, except for the difference in price.

 

Jamie turns to leave, only to feel a hand on his backside, cupping and squeezing. He flushes a bright red and wheels around. 

 

“ _Steven_!”

 

“James,” Stevie says cheekily, leaning in as though to kiss him. He thinks better of it, though, throwing his arms around him and pulling him in for a hug, laughing delightedly. 

 

Jamie melts into the embrace, brief as it is, before they pull apart. The bored-looking cashier checks them out and they’re back in the car for about a second before Jamie lunges across the center console for a kiss. 

 

“Need to go home, baby. Please. Need you inside me.”

 

“I know, J. Be patient, love, just a little bit longer, and we’ll go and make love at home.”

 

Jamie nods and looks only slightly impatient. 

 

He does well, though, waiting for the whole silent car ride and only stealing a few kisses at traffic lights. It’s dizzying, being this daring about being together, this open about being in love. It’s almost addictive. Someone, sometime could see them, and the risk is intoxicating rather than terrifying, now that they’d already talked about coming out. 

 

He imagines what could happen if they’re outed. It’s fun at first, thinking about holding his hand, or posting about him on Instagram, or announcing his engagement. But his mind drifts to darker things, whether Stevie’s really as ready to face the fallout as he thinks he is. The thought is sobering enough that he falls silent for the rest of the journey and keeps his hands (and mouth) to himself.

 

Stevie notices, and Jamie knows that he notices. He can tell, with the concerned glances he’s getting whenever they’re stopped at traffic lights, the hesitation to reach for the radio dial and turn on some music to fill the silence. They’d had silences, before—it would be mental if they hadn’t, as long as they’d known each other. But the shift from horny and flirty to quiet and withdrawn is throwing Stevie off, and he knows it is, and yet he can’t quite force himself to smile and be happy.

 

He remembers growing up, the sorts of things they’d heard in the dressing room. The sorts of things they’d said to each other the first night they’d spent together, jokes about how drunk they must’ve been to sleep with a man. It hadn’t been mean-spirited, of course, and as they’d grown older, things had changed. _They_ had changed. Started accepting it. It didn’t take more than a few sex dreams—always with that brown hair, first in a fringe and then short, and then stylishly cut so it swept to one side, always a flat-chested body, hard in all the right places and then some—and the rather sudden urge to taste another man’s dick before Jamie’d understood that whoever he was, _whatever_ he was, he was definitely into Steven Gerrard.

 

Jamie remembers how he’d framed it to start—he hadn’t been into men, he’d think to himself. He’d only been into _Stevie_. He’d ignore the part of himself that knew unquestionably that Stevie was a man, and thought he’d have fallen in love with him even if he’d been a woman. And that’s true, he still believes it. If Stevie magically turned into a woman tonight, he’d still love him. But he wouldn’t have spent that much time with a woman, he knows. He wouldn’t have had that same ease of contact, that same physical intimacy with a woman that he’d had with Stevie, right from the word go.

   
He wants to tell Stevie what’s wrong—Stevie’s the person he tells whenever he has a problem, and Stevie always knows what to say and what to do. But he doesn’t know quite how to say _I’m scared that you’ll regret coming out and start resenting me and being closeted is hard but it’s easier, too, and I don’t want you to suffer just because you love me._  
  
Stevie pulls into the driveway and parks, and they sit in silence for a moment. “Come to bed,” he says finally, “we don’t have to have sex. I love it, but I love sleeping next to you, too. And you’re ill. So come to bed, love.” It’s quiet for a moment longer, and Stevie reaches across to rest a hand on Jamie’s thigh.

  
“Come to bed, fiancé.”

  
The last word settles Jamie’s nerves a bit. Enough that he can swallow and ask the question before his nerve fails him.

  
“Do you regret proposing?” He asks quietly.

  
“No.” Stevie’s voice is calm and if he’s taken aback by the question, he doesn’t show it. “I don’t think I could ever regret asking the love of my life to marry me, James. Do you regret saying yes?”

  
“ _No!_ ” Jamie’s heart squeezes in his chest, because Stevie _can’t_ think that, can’t be allowed to think for one second that Jamie regrets _anything_ to do with him. “ _I love you._ I want to marry you, Stevie. I’m just worried about you, about coming out and what that could mean for you. I don’t want you to come out and then suffer. Maybe we shouldn’t come out until you’re back at home—“

  
“Babe—I will never regret coming out. Not if it means I get to marry you and post sappy happy birthday messages to you and celebrate our anniversary and raise kids—people will say whatever they wanna say. Some people already hate us, J. They already call us cocksuckers and whatever else you can think of. They just don’t know that I love sucking you. And they can say whatever they want. My family, your family, and you, that’s all I need. And they’re all fine with it. I want to come out when you’re ready for it.”

  
Jamie’s silent for a moment.  
  


A long moment.

 

When he leans over to kiss Stevie, his cheeks are damp. The kiss is soft and long.

 

  
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Steven George Gerrard. I can’t wait for you to come home so we can be disgustingly married and domestic and start looking into getting kids-“

 

Stevie laughs, a little wetly. “Let’s go inside, get you your meds, and then I want you in my bed. Tonight and every night, James. But I’ll take what I can get, and that’s this week.” 

 

Jamie nods, and neither of them mentions the tears. That’s the nice thing about the night. They’d always been most honest when it was dark.

  
They get out of the car and walk into the house and straight up to bed, so Jamie can take his pill. “I want to buy you a ring, too,” he says quietly, “we can come out whenever you’re ready, love. If you’re ready to face the consequences, I’m ready to face them with you. I want you to have an engagement ring, though.”

  
Stevie smiles, almost shy. 

  
“Do you remember when you left me that love bite on my neck and the boys all made fun of me, but I was so proud of it?”

  
Jamie flushes, but nods. “I remember, babe. I shouldn’t have. Should’ve controlled myself better.”

  
Stevie shakes his head fervently. “No! I loved it. I loved feeling like—like I belonged to you. Like I was yours. That’s how I feel when I see you wearing the ring I got you. I’m proud that you’re mine. I want everyone to know that you’re taken, that you’re off the market forever.”

 

Jamie smiles. “Let me buy you an engagement ring, babe. Then you’ll know who you belong to, all the time. Take it off for practice and matches, but otherwise, I want to see it on you all the time.”

 

Stevie nods. “Come here, J, let’s sleep.” Jamie nods and curls into him, as comfortable as he can make himself, and lets himself drift off, Stevie’s arms reassuringly heavy around him.

 

It feels like home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Eafay! I hope you like this, it's a little rough and I'm sorry about that, but I can always make edits later and I wanted to get it up before your birthday ended :)

 

Saturday comes too soon. Jamie doesn’t sleep well, tossing and turning and waking up every couple hours to look at his fiancé. Stevie looks beautiful in the pale moonlight. Then again, he always looks beautiful, as far as Jamie’s concerned.

He’s sad, when the morning comes. He wakes up first, at an ungodly hour, and lays in bed until it’s a suitable time to get up and make breakfast.

He’s in the middle of making French toast—surely Stevie can cheat on his diet, just this once—when a pair of arms wraps around his middle, a nose nuzzling against his neck.

“I love you,” he says quietly to Stevie, turning for a good morning kiss, “I can do you an egg white omelet if you want, if this is going to get you in trouble.”

Stevie shakes his head. “Nobody has to know.”

Jamie smiles, and it’s weak and a little sad, and he knows Stevie can see that.

“I don’t wanna go,” he confesses quietly, eyes focusing on the bread sizzling in the pan before he flips it, “I’ll quit my job, I don’t care, I love you more.”

“ _I_ care, though,” Stevie says, arms tightening around him, “I care too much to let you quit just for me.”

One of them has to be strong. It’s good to know Stevie can hold on when Jamie’s half out of his mind.

“Sorry,” Jamie mutters, putting the French toast on a place and preparing the next one, “I didn’t sleep very well.”

“I know,” Stevie says mildly, smiling, “you kept moving around and I could feel you looking at me for ages.”

Jamie flushes a bit, but nods. “Didn’t want to miss seeing you. Pictures aren’t the same.” He hands Stevie a plate and Stevie sits, appetite suddenly gone. For all that he’s being brave, he doesn’t want Jamie to go either.

Breakfast is quiet, and afterwards, they go sit on the sofa, Jamie settling atop Stevie’s lap and kissing him like it’s the last time. Stevie kisses him back and wishes he had more time. He’d give anything for more time.

“Need to get ready,” Stevie whispers, hands sliding under Jamie’s t-shirt to grip the muscles of his back, memorizing every last detail of him, every sense locked onto the man in front of him.

He hadn’t brought cologne with him, so he smells of Stevie’s, and he tastes sweet, of French toast and tea with sugar. His muscles are firm, but not hard—they give under his hands a little. There’s a fading love bite on his neck—they’re too old for it, Stevie knows, but he couldn’t quite help himself. He’s run his fingers through Jamie’s hair so many times he must have touched every single strand, brown and gray alike. There are his familiar hollow cheeks, sharp cheekbones, sharper than the boy he’d met, so many years ago. His eyes. Stevie doesn’t do them justice, he thinks regretfully, they spend so much time kissing and he never looks into Jamie’s eyes enough.

Then again, there is never enough when it comes to his lad.

Jamie clings to him after they’re done kissing, resting his head on Stevie’s shoulder, and it becomes a hug.

“Need a shower,” Jamie says eventually, not making even the slightest effort to move.

“Then we should take one,” Stevie agrees. They keep sitting on the sofa, though, until Jamie lets himself fall onto his back, pulling Stevie on top of him.

“We don’t have time,” Stevie whispers softly, pressing his lips to Jamie’s neck.

Jamie sighs and lets him pull away before getting up and following him into the shower.

There are so many words hanging in the air between them, words that they choose not to say. Jamie grows irrational, almost angry at Stevie for leaving in the first place, but he’s old enough to bite his tongue. Stevie wants to break down and beg Jamie to stay, but that would only hurt them both more.

No, it’s best to keep those thoughts to themselves.

Jamie’s wearing his ring as he lifts his carry-on into the trunk. He always wears his ring now, ever since they’d spoken about it. Seeing it makes Stevie’s heart throb.

They get in the car—Jamie _still_ can’t get over American cars being backwards and Stevie smiles at the quiet curse when he has to double back.

The drive is quiet at first, but then Jamie brings up the beach house in Spain, and that starts them off, nostalgia heavy in the air.

They’re pulling up to the airport when Stevie realizes with a pang that he hadn’t kissed him goodbye at home, and now it’s too late.

It’s a painful re-enactment of when Stevie left Liverpool, with the roles reversed. Jamie gets out of the car, and Stevie follows. Jamie’s sensible enough to pack a sweater for the plane, and Stevie wishes for a moment that he wasn’t, wishes he could give him a sweater of his own to keep him warm.

Jamie hugs him goodbye, and he doesn’t want to let go, suddenly, almost can’t stand the thought of letting go.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too.” Jamie’s just as quiet. For all that they’ve talked about coming out, it’s still incredibly difficult.

Jamie’s going to wear his ring, but he’s going to try to keep Stevie out of it, if he can.

They pull apart. “Take care of yourself, J. I mean it, don’t overdo the running.”

Jamie nods. “You do the same, Steve. See you in a few months for the holidays.” Stevie nods, though it’s too far away and his chest grows tight and anxious just at the thought of being without Jamie for so long.

They aren’t good at goodbyes. So Stevie’s not surprised that Jamie just nods at him and walks off.

He watches him go for a moment, hands in his pockets to keep from reaching after him, before getting back in the car and going to training.  
\---

  
Jamie listens to his Stevie playlist on the way back, accepting for now that he’s a bit of a masochist. He falls asleep to it and wakes up to it and drags himself out of the airport and into a taxi to get home. He throws himself into bed and texts Stevie to tell him he’s made it.

Stevie calls and they talk for a little bit, until Jamie’s voice is slurring and fading.

“Hey, I love you, J. Good night. Get some rest.”

Jamie doesn’t say anything and Stevie smiles. He can imagine him, lying there, face smushed against the pillow, maybe with his mouth open, eyes shut as he sleeps.

“Dream a little dream of me,” he says softly before hanging up.  
—

The separation is harder this time.

It throbs in Jamie, pulsing with each heartbeat. Every small thing seems to remind him of Stevie, every big thing doubly so.

It’s so much more present—before he’d gone, he’d been able to put his heartache in a box in his head. It wasn’t healthy, but compartmentalizing worked perfectly well. It made it so it only hurt at night, when he was alone in bed and aching to tell Stevie about his day.

They talk more. Both of them sacrifice their sleep a bit, just to talk a little every day. Stevie wakes up early to take Jamie’s calls and Jamie stays up to watch his matches and phone him after.

They hadn’t talked as much before. They’d gotten by on a phone call or two a week, but now they talk every day and text each other throughout the day. Jamie usually wakes up to a good night text from Stevie, sent around the time he goes to bed, and Stevie usually wakes up to a good morning text from Jamie.

Sometimes they send each other pictures of baby things. A photograph of a little baby boy in a Liverpool kit, onesies that say _I love my daddy_ , soft teddy bears and little plush footballs. Messages like that make Jamie both incredibly happy, like his heart is gonna burst out of his chest if it keeps beating like that—and incredibly sad, that they have to wait.

Sometimes he cries. Usually in bed, face buried against Stevie’s pillow, or in the shower. He cries when the pressure in his chest, the pure wanting in his heart feels like it’s ripping him apart. It doesn’t last long, when it happens, only two or three minutes at a time.

He never tells Stevie.

And always, when he does cry, he runs upwards of twenty miles the next day. It’s one of his mental rules. He’s not sure if it’s a punishment, having to hurt so long, or a reward, getting twenty miles closer to Stevie. Maybe it’s both.

Jamie watches the Office and sends Stevie a picture.

He gets a phone call in return. Neither of them care to sleep anymore, not when they could speak on the phone.

It helps, but the problem is that they both end up trying to be brave. They both end up trying to protect each other.

“How are you doing, love?”

“Fine,” Jamie says quietly, so unconvincing Stevie doesn’t know whether to laugh or burst into tears. “I miss you,” he adds, and that rings with the sincerity of truth, “I’ve been running a lot.”  
—

  
Stevie worries about the running, Jamie can tell. There’s always a slight anxiety to his voice, and he starts asking more questions about specifically how much distance he’s covering, and how much sleep he’s getting, and what he’s doing to recover in terms of protein bars and shakes and meals.

Jamie wouldn’t mind him being a little less nosy, as much as he knows it comes from a place of love. He’s always balancing a tightrope—Stevie’s his fiancé and of course he should be honest, hell, he _wants_ to be honest, but Stevie would worry, and he doesn’t want that, so he tells him distances that are shorter and tells him about sleeping a couple hours more than he does.

The best ways to change the subject are to talk about football or marriage or kids. Stevie loves him to bits, but he gets distracted—marriage and kids are better than football, because Stevie can see through that one more easily.

But it’s so new, being engaged and talking about babies or kids, and it’s so pleasant to dream—Stevie can’t quite help himself. It’s better than worrying about Jamie when he’s so far away and powerless to change his behavior, anyway.

Jamie wonders if maybe part of him is taking advantage of his fiancé, doing this, and his insides always squeeze uncomfortably when he tells Stevie a little white lie. Ten miles instead of twenty-five. Eight hours of sleep instead of six. One more protein bar than he actually had, because even though he’s fine, he knows it’ll make Stevie feel better.

He has to plan it out ahead of time, what he’s going to say, because when he gets on the phone with that warm, dear voice, his instinct is to be truthful, and the few times he doesn’t have a lie ready, he ends up telling the truth.   
\---

One day he gets a text from Stevie. “What do you think for names?”

It becomes almost a game. It’s something to look forward to, something to make their hearts swell with happiness a little bit every day, even when the days are long and lonely.

Jamie dreams about him more. Not in a sexual way, though he has those dreams too, certainly. They find times to get off, some mutually agreeable moment to video chat and watch each other wank with longing in their eyes.

But there’s no way to relieve the particular urge he feels when he dreams of Stevie holding a baby, kissing a tiny, pale forehead and holding the smallest, softest, strongest little fingers wrapped around one of his own. There’s no way to relieve the feeling that builds in his chest when he dreams of Stevie on a bright summer day, turning back to look at him, reaching for his hand and being blinded for a moment by the glint of light off of his wedding ring—it’s always a wedding ring, somehow, never an engagement ring. He dreams that they’re both in classic black suits—sometimes Stevie’s got a bowtie on, and other times a regular tie tucked neatly into his waistcoat.

Jamie wakes from those dreams with nothing but cold sheets and the fading scent of Stevie’s cologne on his pillow, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can’t even talk to Stevie about it, because Stevie will worry, and that’s more awful than feeling this gaping hole in his life where Stevie isn’t. He’s a little afraid, too, a little afraid that he’s being ridiculous, or that he loves Stevie too much, that it isn’t healthy to miss him like he does.   
\---

  
He visits his mother about a week after he gets back, after a few nights of waking up and facing a renewed disappointment at not having Stevie there with him, a few days of trying to readjust to being alone again.

He tells himself it’s because he needs to tell her they’re engaged, and not because he just wants a hug from his mum and some reassurance that nothing’s wrong with him.

As soon as he gets through the door, she’s hugging him tight. He sinks into the embrace, smelling her familiar, reassuring perfume—the same Chanel he’d bought her with his first professional wages. She’d never changed it, and he got her a new bottle for Christmas every year.

“Stevie proposed,” he says quietly.

She pulls away, clearly shocked, and actually bounces up and down.

“ _No!_ ” she squeals in delight.

Jamie grins at her, loneliness swept away in the temporary high of his mother’s happiness, and holds up his left hand, showing off the ring.

“ _James!_ Finally, I was starting to think you two would never get around to it! My first baby, finally getting settled! My little miracle—“ Her eyes well up as she starts thinking about Jamie’s conception, the difficult pregnancy, the neonatal operation that had left him in the hospital for the first two weeks of his life. She always cries when she thinks about it.

He steps back and hugs her again.

“And now, you’re getting _married_ ,” she says, still sniffling, “my little boy, getting married to Stevie after all this time, and you two will be so happy—“

“We’re thinking about adopting a baby,” Jamie confesses quietly, “a little boy. What do you think, Mum? Would I make a good dad?”

His mother bursts into tears all over again, clinging to him tightly and nodding.

“Of course you would—the way you are with your brothers’ kids, James, the way you are with your younger cousins, even the way you were with your brothers growing up—you’ll be a brilliant dad. So will Stevie.”

“I think so, too. I know Stevie’s gonna be amazing, at least. I might take a bit of time to get used to making bottles and changing nappies, but Stevie’s the perfect person to do it with, he’s so _perfect_ —“

His mum lets out a choked laugh. “That’s because you’re in love with him, Jamie!” She gives him one last squeeze and pulls away. “Come here, let me make a cup of tea to steady my nerves. Honestly, James, I can’t wait to tell everyone! Does Stevie’s family know?”

“He told his mum he was planning to, and I got a tiny bit ill when I was over there, and he ended up phoning her and he told her then.”

“Oh, that clever woman! I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from her recently. She must’ve stopped calling so she could keep it secret!”

“Phone her now,” Jamie says lazily, “or I’ll drive you over there, if you want. She made me promise to visit her when I got back. Said she wanted to see her newest son.”

His mother’s lower lip trembles again at that, though she manages to control herself this time. “I want to see mine, too, but he’s all the way in America,” she grumbles, “he should’ve waited to ask you until he was back here, so we could all celebrate! At least we can do Christmas together, our family and his—you boys can finally make use of all that space you’ve got in those huge houses that you bounce around in all day long.”

“He asked me the first night I was there,” Jamie says dreamily, “just before we fell asleep. It was perfect, Mum. I don’t know if he had something big and fancy planned, but it was just the two of us in bed, and I think—I think we were just really happy to be together again, and he just _asked_. And I’m glad. I wouldn’t have wanted anything big and fancy, either. Just him asking me when we were both at home.”

His mother is absolutely beaming at him. “Oh, love—you two are just so precious! I just wish someone had gotten a picture of the pair of you just after he’d asked and you’d said yes!”

Jamie blushes. “I don’t think we could’ve paid any photographer to stay and watch us, uh, reunite before he proposed. And the ones who’d want to would all be paparazzi, I’m guessing.”

His mother freezes and looks at him. “You said you wanted kids, didn’t you, love? How are you going to—you’re not out yet…”

“We’re going to come out. At some point. I can’t be sure when, exactly, I guess whenever it feels right? But I don’t want him to suffer, I’d rather him be done with football and retired—fans are brutal sometimes, Mum. I don’t want him getting hurt. In any way.”

His mother’s smile fades at the way he’s speaking. But it’s true. He’s run the worst case scenarios in his head over and over again. Their homes are in gated communities, both reasonably secure, with fencing and security gates and key codes and all. Football stadiums aren’t safe in the same way, and even if blatantly homophobic fans are in the minority, they’re often a rather _loud_ minority, and he’ll die before he puts Stevie through that.

He pauses for a moment. “Stevie wants to come out whenever I’m ready. I’m ready to come out, but not if it drags him out with me. I love him, and I want to tell the world I’m engaged, but—“

“Americans are different,” his mother says softly, “especially in L.A. They must be different than here. If he’s over there—he’s got a teammate, already, doesn’t he? He likes men, too, and he’s fine, isn’t he?”

Jamie goes quiet, pausing to think the statement over.

“He’s not really famous, over there,” he admits slowly, “it’ll probably be bigger news over here than it would over there…”

His mother hugs him again and kisses his cheek. “Talk to him about it. He’s your fiancé, not your son, you can’t make decisions for him without talking to him about them. Not big things like this.”

Jamie nods.

“Do you wanna come see Stevie’s mum after this? I think Stevie wants the wedding to be small, just him and me, pretty much, but we haven’t decided yet—“

“There is no way I’m missing my son’s wedding! Not when it’s been such a long time coming!”

“I think Stevie was hoping to just go straight to our honeymoon,” Jamie admits, rubbing at the back of his neck and flushing with embarrassment.

“What about you? What were you hoping for?”

Jamie flushes deeper. “Uh, I wouldn’t mind going straight to our honeymoon. We could have a reception back here afterwards, even, if you want, with family and a few friends? But I don’t want a huge fuss.”

His mother nods, trying to hide the disappointment she must feel. “Your relationship has been so secret for so long,” she says quietly, “it must be hard, to make a fuss about it, to have other people know about it and celebrate it. Maybe call Struan, he might have some ideas about how to do it with as little fuss as possible—“

Jamie flushes. “I—Struan doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that we’re together.”

His mother smiles kindly. “Well, if you want to get married and have kids, love, you’ll have to tell people sometime. And he cares about both of you, he’ll have good ideas. He’ll help.”

Jamie thinks it over. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Ask Stevie about it, love. Decide together. For now, I think I owe Mrs. Gerrard a visit. You said you’d drive me? That woman, honestly! Trying to keep this from me when we’ve talked about you two getting married for years!”

“You can’t have been talking about it for years, Mum, it’s barely been legal for a year and a half,” Jamie protests weakly.

His mother shrugs. “We knew it would be difficult, that maybe you might not want to come out. And it didn’t matter, as long as you two were happy, that’s what we always said… But I did hope. We did talk about it, sometimes. Daydreamed about it. Maybe after you were older, both retired, both out of the spotlight… We’re mothers, James. We can’t quite stop hoping. And we thought you might marry abroad, if Parliament didn’t pass it in England.”

Jamie grows quiet. “I didn’t think it would ever happen,” he confesses, “I didn’t think it was even on the table, Mum, honestly. I don’t think I even let myself think about it, really, other than in dreams. I just—I would’ve been happy with him, even if we were just dating for the rest of our lives. But now, getting _married_. I was the one who brought up kids—a day or so after he proposed. It’s so silly, I was so nervous that he’d say no, and I know we’d be just as happy if we didn’t, but—but he said yes. He said yes, and we’re looking into maybe adopting a boy. Maybe a little baby, maybe an older lad. Maybe even more than one. It’s so exciting. I can’t wait for us to be a family.”

His mother smiles at him. “Let’s go visit your future mother-in-law, James. She’ll be pleased to see you.”

Jamie absolutely beams. He can feel it, the way he’s smiling like an absolute idiot, but he can’t quite stop himself, either. The only thing that would make things more perfect would be having Stevie here by his side.

They drive over to Stevie’s mother’s house, and when Jamie knocks on the door, she opens it and just about throws herself at him in a hug.

“Mrs. Gerrard,” Jamie says fondly, laughing as he hugs her back.

“Hush, no more Mrs. Gerrard for you, Jamie Carragher, I’m Mum now.”

“Don’t wanna make _her_ jealous,” Jamie whispers confidentially, glancing at his mother.

Stevie’s mum lets out a wordless exclamation and pulls away from him and hugs his mother instead.

“You clever thing! I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from you lately,” Jamie’s mother says with a laugh, hugging her back, “Now, I’ve given you my boy, but yours is so far away, how am I supposed to congratulate him?!”

“He’ll come visit soon, we can plan everything for the wedding—“

“James told me that they were thinking about just running off to a honeymoon and getting married while they were at it.”

They start talking quickly and Jamie’s quiet, smiling as he watches them. He even gets up after a few minutes and puts the kettle on, pulling out the mugs and handing them their tea when it’s done.

They agree that they’ll do Christmas together, and Jamie feels incredibly warm and comfortable. So of course it’s right at this moment that Stevie’s absence hits him like a truck, sucking the air out of his chest.

It’s so nearly a perfect moment, and he just wishes he could share it with his fiancé.

He must look sad, because his mother looks up at him a few minutes later, as he’s scrolling through his old texts with Stevie. He’s just looking at the baby onesie with his heart aching in his chest, when—

“Love, what’s wrong?” His mother asks softly.

He looks up, caught off guard. “Nothing. Nothing, I was just—I just miss him, that’s all. Look, he sent me this—“

He shows them the photo and their hands fly to their chests.

“You’ll get there, James,” Stevie’s mum says quietly, “he’s coming home for Christmas, you could start looking into something—“

“We pretty much need to be married. I checked. For two men, taking on a baby, we need to be married, and have background checks, they’ll check our homes, make sure they’re safe and ready, that _we’re_ ready. It’ll be a year, at least, before it finally happens. I don’t want to get married until he’s retired. I won’t let him suffer—“

“ _James_.” Stevie’s mother looks about as angry as she’s ever looked. “Stevie will not _suffer_ if you get married. He’s ready, he’s in America, his teammate is openly gay and he doesn’t have any trouble! Just—you’re not his _father_. Steven already has a father. He wants a _husband_ , and so do you. Get married whenever you want to, wherever. Go off alone and be together, come home and have everyone there with you—my son loves you, James. Don’t cheapen that.”

“Yes, Mum,” Jamie says meekly, “you’re right—it’s only a serious concern if he plays in Europe again after. He’ll be safe with his teammates, safe in LA, and when he’s back here, I can look after him myself, protect him.”

She nods, satisfied.

Jamie smiles.

He looks down at his phone and sends a short text before looking up at them. “Maybe we could shoot for a spring wedding,” he says softly, trying to keep his voice steady.

His phone rings instantly.

“Hi, love,” he says tenderly, “what do you say? Do you wanna get married? Figured I should lock you down before you find some young, hot model to fall in love with.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Stevie says fondly, “I’m never, ever leaving you. Can we get married at Christmas?”

“I-I was thinking spring—“

“I don’t wanna wait,” Stevie confesses quietly, “wanna be with you. Wanna be married.”

“I don’t want it to be Christmas. I hate mixing holidays together. Before that? When you come home in November? We can get married then. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go, take a two week vacation, we can hit the beach, get some sun, I’ll need to keep training for a few hours a day, but we’ll cut back a bit—“

“Wouldn’t want to compete with your running shoes for your attention,” Stevie says, though the joke falls a bit flat.

“Love—“

“No, J, it’s fine. Let’s do it. Let’s get married in November when I get back.”

“Okay,” Jamie says softly, though his mind flicks quickly to the Istanbul marathon. It’s going to be mid-November. “Early November, or—?”

“Why, are you busy?”

“I-I wanted to run Istanbul. Asia to Europe. I thought it would be nice, you could come support me, be there at the finish line, then we could try a bit of sightseeing, and then run off to Spain or somewhere to get married?”

Stevie pauses a moment.

“Yeah, mate, sure. We could do that. Or get married first.”

“If we get married first, you and I aren’t leaving bed for a week,” Jamie teases lightly, “and I won’t be in any fit shape to run a marathon after that.”

“Okay, J.” He can hear Stevie, smiling on the other side of the ocean.

He doesn’t forget it, though. Stevie’s words, his voice slightly bitter. _Wouldn’t want to compete with your running shoes for your attention._

They agree to set a date in November, depending on when Stevie gets done with Galaxy and gets home, and depending on whether Jamie’s still fit for the marathon. Both their mothers are smiling at him, and they each take a turn speaking to Stevie. His mother tries to give him the shovel talk, but it doesn’t work as well when she’s tearing up at the mere thought of their marriage.

He drops his mother off at home and goes back to his own place afterwards, just long enough to change into his running clothes.

He runs twenty-seven miles and tells Ian without an ounce of shame, grinning even through the scolding he receives for piling on two long runs on consecutive days.   
\---

He goes to the doctor, just to make sure that the pain he’s feeling in his muscles are normal. It’s not normal for a forty year old to hurt like he hurts, but it’s not normal for a forty year old to wake up one day and decide to run five thousand miles in a year, either.

“Rest more if you can. Stretch more, especially before you start, and even more when you finish running. Take a break when you can, James. I know you, and I know taking a break isn’t your thing, but—“

Jamie shrugs.

“Right. Well, once this year is over, we’ll look at the damage, but right now your muscles and bones all feel fine. We can get some imaging done today, but until you feel an unusual level of pain, there’s no need, really. Maybe in a few months, when you’re further in, we’ll take a set of images, just to see if we can catch anything early enough to treat it and keep it from getting worse. Let’s get some done now so we can have something to compare to in a few months.”

“Okay,” Jamie agrees.

“James. This—I know you’ve got your heart set on this, but you need to be prepared. I know you have a good stride, I know you take good care of your body, but you’ve gotta be prepared for getting an injury, a stress fracture, or small tears in your muscle—microtears and microfractures are normal to a certain extent, but when they keep accumulating like this without any time to heal—“

“I’ll go easy. My muscles are getting stronger, too, they won’t tear as much in the future.”

The doctor smiles tightly and Jamie grins back. “Do I get a lollipop for being a good boy?” he quips.

His doctor laughs and claps him on the back. “Look after yourself, James.”

The way he looks at Jamie says something more, though.

_Someone’s got to._

Jamie doesn’t tell Stevie about the doctor’s visit at all, not even to tell him they’re going to image his legs in a couple days. He doesn’t tell him everything is normal, and he doesn’t tell him his doctor is concerned about him.  
—

Ian is concerned about him too. He comments on it—on the fact that he looks more tired, that he’s drinking coffee all of a sudden instead of tea.

“Decaf,” Jamie drawls, and the look of disbelief is so scathing that he drops the act.

“Okay! Maybe it’s not decaf.”

“No shit, James,” Ian says firmly, “lying to me is not a good habit to get into.”

Jamie ducks his head. “Sorry. I’ve been staying up a little later these days, that’s all.”

Ian softens at that. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“No—I’m—uh, I’m close with someone who’s abroad right now, and we’ve been speaking more lately. The time difference isn’t easy.”

“If your friend loves you, J, they’d want you to sleep,” Ian says kindly, “you need to rest if you want to get this thing done. Your sleep is when your body works on repairing those microtears and microfractures you get when your legs are pounding the pavement every single day. It’s a lot of impact.”

Jamie nods. “I’ll take a couple days off.”

“That’s not enough, James. You can’t be running this long. Take care of your bones, take care of your muscles, are you taking any vitamins?”

Jamie goes home with a promise that he’ll drink more milk and take a multivitamin.

\---

 

Stevie calls that night. “How are you doing, love?” He asks, beautiful, familiar voice like a balm to Jamie’s soul.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he says quietly, settling into bed, “tell me about your day, Steve. I missed you today.”

“I missed you too. There was this lad in the grocery store who kind of looked like you from the back and I got so excited, thought you came to surprise me, but then he turned around, and he had brown eyes and his nose was all wrong, and it just made me miss you more, babe. I can’t wait to see you.”

“I can’t wait to see you, either,” Jamie says softly, “half want to take a flight out tonight.”

“Why don’t you?”

Jamie sighs and looks at him. “You know why, love.”

They talk for a few more minutes and eventually, Jamie goes to bed and Stevie heads off to do whatever he does when Jamie’s asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Struan is the agent of both Stevie and Jamie during their playing careers, and presumably that continued subsequently. At least that's what I'm assuming for the sake of this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I didn't think the physio would end up being a big character, but he's sort of present all the time, and he's got no name, so. His name is Joe. I can go back and edit that into the earlier chapters, but until I get a chance to do that, Joe is the physio! Also apologies if it gets clunky and awkward in this chapter in regards to that name, I didn't decide until the whole thing was written that I was naming him.

It’s only about a week after he gets home that he decides to run the Loch Ness marathon. He calls Ian and asks him about it. Ian’s a bit hesitant, but Jamie signs up anyway.

They go over the trail—the flat dirt paths that make up much of the route are very different to Galway’s paved streets and occasional cobblestone roads. Ian gets more enthusiastic about it the more they talk about it.

“This will be great for your joints,” he keeps saying, “this is definitely better than some of the other marathons you could’ve run instead. And it’s going to be beautiful, running around the Loch, you can even look for Nessie if you want to—the scenery will be nice. Now, you don’t have to run your fastest, Jamie, okay? Just keep a good steady pace, make sure you’re not accelerating too much on the declines or going too slow on the inclines.”

He talks about it for awhile longer, about how the race starts on a decline, so Jamie has to manage his pace right from the beginning, can’t let himself go too fast to start.

“I’ll be at the end with some nice pasta to feed your muscles and liver and then me and the physio will help you stretch out as much as you can and get you back to the hotel, we can stay the night, so that’ll be better than Galway, we won’t have to fly back right away—“

Jamie can’t help but get excited the more they talk about it. The race is something concrete to work for and achieve, something he knows he can do. He walks until the night before they leave to tell Stevie, so he doesn’t have as much time to worry about it.

“You’re leaving _tomorrow_?!” Stevie screeches when he finds out.

“Yup! It’s gonna be great, Steve,” Jamie says optimistically.

“This is really close to the last one, J,” Stevie point out softly, “and you want to do Istanbul in a couple of months too. Are you sure you’re not overdoing it a bit?”

“I’m fine! This is just—I love it, Stevie. I love running, and racing is just the best feeling in the world, when you cross that finish line—“

Stevie lets out a slow breath. “Just take care of yourself, James. And I’m pretty sure being with me is better than running.”

Jamie’s smile fades, though Stevie can’t see that, over the phone. “Of course it is! You’re better than running, babe. I just—“ Jamie trails off. “You’re not here. Running helps fill the gap with something else. It’s not the same, and it’s not as good, but it’s something.”

Stevie hesitates for a moment, but says what he’s thinking anyway. “When we get married, when we have the baby, love, it might not be possible for you to go running off to Scotland for a marathon. It would be hard, for me and the baby.”

Jamie’s heart sinks. “That’s not what this is, Stevie.” He fumbles around, trying to find the right words. “This is just to keep me busy, love, until you come home. That’s it. When we get married and when we have our little one, I won’t do this anymore. I’ll maybe go out on a run now and again, but I won’t train for any more races. This is just to give me something. If I didn’t have it, I’d just be lonely and bored. Can’t be lonely when I’ve got my family. And from what I hear, you’re never bored when you’ve got a kid.”

“God, J, the things you say—I’m half-considering retiring right this second and flying back home to you.” Jamie can hear the smile in his voice.

“Do it,” he says lightly, “come home. We can make love for days on end, until we get married, and then we’ll make love again until the baby comes home to us.”

Stevie laughs. “I love you so much, James. Take care of yourself, okay? Call me before you start the race, I want to wish you good luck and tell you all the things I’ll do to my marathon man when I see you next time.”

“Not all the things, Steve, I can’t exactly run a marathon with a boner, I need some blood in my legs, you know.”

Stevie laughs again, tells him he loves him, and tells him to get some sleep.

They hang up not too long after that, and Jamie hopes Stevie can understand why he’s doing this. Maybe one day he’ll explain it all, when Stevie comes home for good. He can imagine it, on some night when the baby’s being fussy and just gone to sleep and they’ll be holding him—maybe Stevie will hold the baby and Jamie will hold Stevie, all in bed together, and Jamie will tell him that he was only ever running to him. That was the goal, and that would always be the goal. He can imagine telling Stevie that he’s the finish line to every race. Stevie would laugh at that though.

He imagines the sound of Stevie’s laughter, and it’s the last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep, and it filters through his dreams, dreams where he’s running and Stevie’s at the finish line with a baby in his arms, where his family is there waiting for him.  
\---

  
Loch Ness is beautiful. The trees are tall and the rippling water is a beautiful blue. There are lily pads in patches on the surface of the loch, flowers around the bases of the trees, though they’ve started to wilt as the leaves have begun to change color. He brings Ian to the carboloading pasta party they have the night before, and Jamie stuffs his face with as much as he can, Ian muttering about how he needs to make and store as much glycogen as possible for his muscles to use while he’s running.

They go back to the hotel and the physio stretches Jamie out, massages his legs, as if that’ll do any good at this point, and Ian goes over the plan for handling the trail again one more time, and then they all three of them lay on Jamie’s bed and watch telly for a little bit, until Ian and the physio excuse themselves. Jamie has to shave his chest then, make sure everything is smooth to avoid chafing uncomfortably. Ian had suggested he shave his legs, too, but Jamie had vetoed that particular suggestion.

As soon as he’s by himself, he shoots a text to Stevie, wondering if he’ll be able to talk or if he’s busy at training. But Jamie gets a call anyway, and Stevie chatters away about little things and sets Jamie’s mind at ease. He finally says goodnight, after making Jamie promise to call him the next morning before the big race and reminding him to charge his phone, or he’ll have nothing to listen to on the run, and it’ll be incredibly boring.

Jamie goes to bed, noting unhappily that the other pillow doesn’t smell like Stevie, not now that he’s in a hotel bed. But he falls asleep anyway, thanks to his sleeping pills.

He wakes up to quiet. His alarm hasn’t gone off yet, and it takes a few minutes for it to sink in that it’s race day. It’s both easier and harder than Galway, because now he knows that he can do this, but he still has that urge inside him to run fast. He still feels like that kid flying down a pitch with a ball at his feet, and reminding himself to go slow and steady is agonizing. He gets up and starts stretching on his own, taking deep breaths as if that’ll somehow help him store energy for when he’s running.

Ian and the physio come in a few minutes later, asking if he’s got any niggles he’d like to have taped up, if he has anything he wants to get done at the last minute. Jamie shakes his head and his eyes fall to his ring, present as it always is on his left ring finger, and he nods, standing up and stretching out his calves one last time before he heads outside to catch the bus to the starting line.

This is where he leaves Ian and his faithful physio, both of them hugging him and wishing him well before he climbs onto the bus and they stay put. Jamie doesn’t know exactly where he’ll see them, knows Ian’s got tricky points mapped out where he’ll meet Jamie and remind him of the strategy. Ian was going to run the last three miles with him, but after he’d done so well at Galway, he’d asked Jamie if he needed that, and it felt like too much to ask, so he’d said no. Whatever happens, Jamie knows he’s going to finish the race, and he knows Ian’s going to be at the finish line waiting for him.

 _And Stevie_ , Jamie reminds himself. Stevie’s going to be at the finish line. He gets to call Stevie when he’s done, gets to talk to him then, gets to tell him he loves him and he did it for him and he does it all for him—

He won’t tell him all of that, he knows, but it’s a nice thought, at least.

He gets his number, finds something to listen to, and takes his place in line, trying to breathe deeply and not worry about this. If he fails, he’s only really letting himself down, he thinks optimistically, it’s not like performing miserably during a match and letting down the whole team and all the fans. It’s just him this time. Him and Ian.

The gun goes off, and all the runners take off. Some of them start way too fast—Jamie can see them instantly, how they want to lead the race and want to win. Their energy will flag after a few miles, and the slower, steadier runners will outlast them. Jamie empathizes, really. He understands the desire to go fast, but he’s come to terms with the fact that Ian knows best.

After about seven miles, he’s passed most of the quick starters. At seven and a half, he sees Ian in the crowd, cheering him on—he’s easy to spot, with his Liverpool kit on. Ian shows up next a fifteen miles, when Jamie’s still feeling pretty good, the burning in his legs familiar and manageable. Ian’s got a video camera this time, and Jamie waves at it, wondering how awful and flushed and sweaty he looks.

He puts in a strong effort at mile eight, because eight is Stevie’s number, and he spends the whole mile thinking about what Stevie might be doing, if he’s worrying about him, if he’s happy.

He stops at mile eighteen for a bathroom break and remembers immediately to rehydrate. He sucks down a cube of energy gel as he runs—he doesn’t really feel much of a difference, but Ian’s strict about making sure he’s taking in calories as he runs, and this is about as many calories as they can cram into a small block of gel.

Mile twenty-two is hard—there’s a steep incline and it makes Jamie’s quadriceps scream out in pain. But it doesn’t last forever, and when that decline starts, it’s almost harder to maintain a decent pace than Jamie’d expected. His legs feel weak under him after the hill. He doesn’t really feel much under his knees. He looks down now and again, just to check that his feet are still there.

Mile twenty-three is his mile. That’s how he thinks of it. It’s his number. He wonders if Stevie’s wearing his watch now, wonders what engagement ring he’ll get him. He’s going to go shop for a ring the day he gets back to Liverpool, he decides. He’ll bring his mum and Stevie’s mum, just to make sure he’ll like it. He thinks about Stevie wearing his kit to cheer him on, and it helps that this mile is mostly flat, and it’s over before he even notices.

There’s only 3.2 miles left. The three miles isn’t that tough. It’s the .2 at the end that kills Jamie, for whatever reason. The closer he gets, the more his legs want to give up and be done.

Mile twenty-four is a killer. It shouldn’t be, really, the ground is fairly flat, but all the energy that kept him going through mile twenty-three seems to sap away suddenly and the only thing driving him forward is the thought that he has to finish, he has to finish, or he’ll be embarrassed.

Mile twenty-five is better than twenty-four, somehow. He isn’t happy, exactly, but he’s gotten back to his normal—or whatever passes for normal at mile twenty-five of a marathon. It’s not easy, but he keeps slogging through it. Football comes in handy at this point—he knows how to ignore the signals his body sends him, knows how to ignore the pain receptors firing off one after the other in his legs, in his glutes, in his feet.

Mile twenty-six is blank. He doesn’t have thoughts anymore. He just keeps running. One foot in front of the other. He doesn’t have thoughts anymore, not really. Just mantras. Left, right, left, right, leftrightleftrightleft—Sometimes he starts counting his steps, almost obsessively, hitting fifty and then a hundred and then starting over.

He doesn’t see the end of mile twenty-six. He hadn’t noticed it, he finds out later. He’d been in the middle of step eight-seven of his fourth hundred of counting and steadily ignoring the pain in the arches of his feet.

No, he doesn’t see the end of mile twenty-six. He sees the finish line instead. Ian’s there, cheering for him and screaming and the physio’s next to him, just as loud. He’s not the first one across the finish line, so he doesn’t get to feel the tape rip when he goes over it. But he sees the white and black stripes on the ground, in front of his feet and then under them and then behind them.

He hears Stevie’s voice in his head, telling him how proud he is, even as he stumbles and his knees hit the pavement. Ian helps him get up and basically carries him over to the table where Joe—when did he start thinking of the physio as Joe again? That was his name, of course, but—starts fussing immediately, pressing at his wet knees.

Jamie looks down and notes the blood absently. “You gonna kiss it better like me mum used to?” he asks with a goofy smile. Ian looks at him for a moment and curses.

“How many times did you stop and eat?” he demands.

Jamie’s mind is all fuzzy. Eat? Was he supposed to stop for lunch? He hadn’t seen a lunch table or anything—

“The energy bars, James. How many times did you stop and grab an energy bar or gel?”

Jamie thinks, eyes closing as he tries to remember, but all he comes up with is the feeling of his feet pounding the pavement—they still throb, even now.

“A few,” he says, deciding to hedge his bets, “at least once!”

Ian lets out a frustrated little growl and stalks off to the rich lunch spread for the runners, piling a plate with chicken, chips, bread, and pasta and setting it down in front of him with a large bottle of his specially formulated electrolyte water.

“Don’t eat too much now,” Ian says, expression softening just a bit, “binge now, you’ll puke. Just eat as much as you can without feeling sick. And drink this. We don’t get to go to the hotel until you’ve had at least half of this bottle, James.”

Jamie nods and starts drinking, realizing how thirsty he is when he starts gulping it down and not noticing how it spills and splashes onto his chest and down his already soaked shirt. After a few seconds, Ian has to take it away from him.

“Now food. You get the rest of this after you eat something. You remember what happened after Galway, James, take it easy and just eat for now.”

Jamie nods and starts eating. The food makes his stomach heave, but he keeps it down, managing most of the pasta and some of the chips, but not much chicken—the effort of chewing is just too much when he can swallow the pasta so easily.

“How are my knees?” he asks the physio, not looking away from his plate for a moment.

“Just skinned, J, they had some dirt in the scrapes, so I cleaned ‘em up and now they’ve got bandages, good as new.”

“And my feet? Have I got ten toenails?”

“Did you have ten when you went into the race?”

Jamie grimaces. “Not really.”

The physio nods. “And you’ve lost a couple more, fourth toes of each foot.”

“Do me a favor and don’t tell me mum about that, okay?” In his head, he can only imagine Stevie fretting over him, and if he sees the finish, he’ll be absolutely worried out of his mind, just because Jamie fell over once, which is hardly anything to fuss over.

He eats and lays on a towel, body starting to feel a slight chill as his damp shirt dries off and he isn’t generating as much heat anymore. Joe wraps a towel over his torso to help him stay warm before starting with the worst of it—the obligatory hamstring stretches that make Jamie regret ever deciding on this thing in the first place. But skipping the stretching would make Jamie regret ever being born, so he holds his tongue and grimaces.

A few minutes later, they move on to quad stretches and then a hip stretch that they have to be careful with because he’s an old man now, and his hips aren’t as flexible as they once were. Then calves, which burn as if they’re on fire, and his back, which is far too tight, and his chest and his shoulders, muscles taut from having pumped back and forth for well over four hours. He groans and Ian gets the picture, tossing him an ice pack that he moves to wherever hurts most.

They get up and hobble to the taxi, waving at the other bedraggled-looking runners and sending a wave of encouragement to those still struggling to make it to the finish line. Jamie sits and falls asleep quickly, waking with a stiff neck and a stiff _almost_ everything else. He gets out of the car and the brief rest makes him doubly aware of how everything aches and pulls and throbs, and his feet protest with every step they take until they’re in the hotel and he’s in the ice bath.

The ice bath is awful, on any normal day. He hates it, hates the burning of prolonged exposure to the ice, hates the numbness that is never enough to stop the pain somehow. Today, it feels good to be numb. The pain in his muscles fades, and it feels good, to be surrounded by the cold water after he’s spent so long burning energy and making heat.

He calls Stevie while he’s in the ice bath.

“Are you in the bath?! Naughty, lad, let me get a good look at you!”

Jamie laughs and cheerfully turns the camera around so Stevie can see the ice cubes in the water, making it harder to see the shape of his legs and hips underneath.

Stevie rolls his eyes. “Typical. Such a tease, Carra. I’d put you in your place if I was there, you know. Tease you right back until you were begging for it.”

“I don’t need to be teased to beg you,” Jamie shoots back, relaxing into the water so it climbs higher up his chest and back.

Stevie smiles fondly, and the words slip out before Jamie’s even aware of them. “Mile eight was my favorite. I thought about you—I thought about you the whole race, pretty much, imagined you being there at the finish line to tell me how proud you were, but especially in mile eight. It just flew by, perfect weather, perfect, level trail, not a cloud in the sky.”

Stevie’s smile softens, and he looks at Jamie again. “Was this one worse than the last one?” he asks.

“Not physically,” Jamie admits, “a lot of dirt paths instead of paved roads, and that’s easier on the knees, some hills but not too many so it wasn’t awful. Just wanted you to be here at the end. Needed something to run for. Imagined you and a baby at the finish line, and I don’t know how you picked me up and carried me to bed with an infant in your arms, but in my head you managed, somehow.”

Stevie lets out a long, slow breath. “James,” he starts gently, “I always ask you to take care of yourself, and I really do mean it. How long can you carry on like this? What if you mess something up? You could lose a lifetime of playing football with our son just because of how much you want to do this, J. You know I love you, and you know I support you in whatever you want, but I just worry. This is a lot for your body to take—for anybody to take, even if they were twenty years younger than you. Just take care, love. That’s my fiancé, you know. Can’t go busting up those feet on me. Need someone to have my first dance with, at the wedding.”

Jamie’s throat tightens up suddenly, and he’s more emotional than he thought he’d be. “We’re not much for dancing, you and me,” he says lightly, choking on a laugh.

“But we’ll dance, J. At our wedding, we’ll dance.”

Jamie’s eyes itch, all of a sudden. “I love you,” he whispers, “I wish you were here, Stevie. I miss you so much, every single day.”

Stevie’s smile is gone, and his expression is pained, as if he wants to reach through the phone to touch Jamie somehow. “I’ll be there soon,” he promises quietly, “I love you, James. I’ll be there soon. And we’ll be stupid and pick out nice new suits and a decent little place for a wedding and have our families there, and then we’ll take off, go somewhere nice and warm. Nude beach might be nice, though I don’t want anyone else seeing my lad, really, some things are just for me—“ He’s spinning a beautiful vision of the future and Jamie just wants to listen to his voice forever.

“I wish you were here,” he says again. There’s a knock at the door and he looks over. “Come in!” he calls, “talk later, love, okay?” He asks Stevie, who nods, and hesitates a moment, before pressing a kiss to his fingers and his fingers to the camera.

“Love you too,” Jamie says softly before hanging up. He looks up at Joe, who has a sympathetic look on his face.

“That’s long enough in the ice bath, Jamie, it’s time to get you warm and stretch you out and then you can eat a bit more and sleep as long as you like.”

Jamie nods and gets up, wrapping the towel around his waist.

“Girlfriend?” Joe asks as he dries off.

Jamie considers the question for a moment. “Fiancé,” he answers after a moment.

“Oh! Congratulations, I didn’t know you were—“

“Engaged? I am, we’re planning the wedding for November. Trying to keep it quiet, though, you understand.”

He nods and Ian walks in. “What’s all this about being engaged, then? Is that what all the running’s about? You don’t have to do this to impress her, lad, she’s already said yes, hasn’t she?”

“I was the one who said yes, actually,” Jamie says quietly, pulling on a pair of boxers and lying on top of the bed so the physio can look after his feet before they stretch.

“ _She_ proposed to _you_?!” Ian exclaims.

 _He means well_ , Jamie reminds himself.

 _He means well. He means well. Hemeanswellhemeanswellhemeanswell._ The words repeat on loop in his mind, like the mantras he thought about when he was running those last few miles.

“He,” he finally says, voice low, “he asked me, and I said yes.”

It’s quiet for a moment as they process the information. The physio’s hold on Jamie’s feet tightens infinitesimally.

“Ah,” Ian says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. “That’s good then. He’s a lucky man.”

Joe nods. “When did he propose?” he asks curiously, “how long have you been engaged?”

Jamie flushes. They’ve moved past it. He’d had this secret from everyone for so long now, and this is it? They’ve moved past it? Just like that? He huffs out a laugh, feeling like the air is made of helium.

“He asked me in August. When I was abroad for that week, you remember? After Galway. He asked me then, and I said yes because I’m just—he’s the one, you know? And I was an idiot and agreed to let him go live abroad without me.”

Joe’s hands start to move again, pulling at the muscles of his feet and manipulating them until they’re looser and less sore before moving up to his calves and shins.

“What’s his name?” Ian asks curiously.

Jamie considers it, but he can’t make himself say it. He’s willing to out himself. He’s absolutely willing to take whatever comes out of it, the harassment or the slurs or the tweets or hate mail.

He’s not willing to let Stevie suffer, though.

“Can’t say. Don’t want him to get any shit,” Jamie says shortly, “I’m engaged, and I’ll wait until he’s ready to say who he is.”

Ian looks taken aback—this is the first thing thus far that Jamie’s kept from him, but he acknowledges the decision with a nod and changes the topic of conversation to asking if Jamie’s feeling any pain, and where.

Jamie shifts into autopilot and lets his mind wander as the physio’s hands do, massaging his quads and then nudging him to turn over so he can have his hamstrings and glutes done too.

His back is next, as his eyes drift shut and old memories start running through his mind. They shift into dreams, and the next thing he knows, he’s asleep.

Joe keeps working, a little gentler since he knows Jamie’s asleep. Ian looks at Jamie almost tenderly, protectively, and he exchanges a meaningful look with Joe, and they both know that the secret will be safe with them.


	6. Chapter 6

Jamie wakes up early—it’s like three in the morning. He doesn’t know what woke him, not until he feels his heart pounding in his chest and remembers the terror he’d felt when he’d dropped the baby in his dream. At least his mind is kind enough to wake him before his little one had started crying, he rationalizes.

His heart rate is just starting to settle and his breath is just starting to even out when he remembers the conversation he’d had with Ian and Joe before he’d fallen asleep.

They know. His mind fills with curses, and his poor heart starts to race again as he fumbles for his phone and frantically googles himself, wondering if he’ll find articles about how he’s a closeted gay finally getting his happy ending—if the journos are feeling kind.

 _The journos are never kind_ , he thinks bitterly, as the search results load, the hotel wifi painfully slow.

The first article is about the marathon. The second is musing about what’s pushed him into this new peculiar hobby, speculating that it must have been a wager with someone—Gary, they’ve guessed.

They’re all like that, the first page of results. So Jamie does the only thing he can do, and goes to the second page.

The third article there is from a few weeks ago, about the fact that he’s got a ring on that nobody had seen before, speculating that “he’s off the market, ladies!” and “some lucky lady’s locked him down!”

That’s when Jamie allows himself a sigh of relief. He takes a long, deep breath and lays there in the darkness, heart slowing back down as his muscles relax. He feels the aching, then, in his muscles, the normal post-race ache that he doesn’t actually hate because it’s a good kind of pain, at least when he’s not trying to move.

He can’t quite go back to sleep, though. So he sends Stevie a text, a cheesy chat up line he might’ve used when they were just starting out.

_You look gorgeous, but you’d look better with your clothes on my floor._

Stevie sends him back a flushing emoji and calls a minute later.

“Are you okay? It’s late there, why are you awake, love? Everything alright?”

Jamie beams and leans over to turn on the lamp. “I’m fine, Steve. Just fell asleep too early and now I’m up at an ungodly hour. Lemme see that pretty face of yours.”

Stevie lets out an amused huff and facetimes him a moment later. He’s at home, sitting in his pajamas, the scruff of his beard looking sweetly disheveled.

“Gorgeous,” Jamie says with a wink, “I was right.”

Stevie laughs lightly. “So are you, love. How are you feeling after?”

“Sore! Joe’s a fantastic physio, but I like your hands on me better.”

“I bet you do, probably like my hands on you almost as much as you like my mouth on you, James.”

Jamie flushes. “You’ve got the most perfect mouth,” he agrees, “but I wanted to tell you something.”

Stevie suddenly looks more alert, nodding.

“I—I think I came out to someone,” Jamie says softly, “Ian and Joe—it just came up, I guess, and I told them I was engaged to a man. Didn’t want to say who, didn’t want any trouble for you, but I told them. And then I woke up and I was so scared that they’d told someone, told the papers or something, and I was worried about you—but they didn’t. And I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

Stevie’s gaze becomes softer, more tender. “Love, they care about you. I followed Ian on Instagram, and he posted all these videos of you today, and you can tell how proud he is of you. And Joe takes such good care of you, even when I can’t. I know it was hard, to tell them. But they handled it well, and I’m really proud of you for being brave and telling them.”

Jamie relaxes, not even noticing the strain in his shoulders until it’s gone. “It wasn’t brave,” he says softly, “not really. But I just wanted you to know. You can tell people, if you want to, love. Our families already know, you can tell your teammates if you want, I might—might tell the lads at work, maybe.”

Stevie nods. “I’m glad they didn’t react badly, J. It would’ve been so much work flying over there to kick their asses for hurting you.”

Jamie laughs delightedly. “I wish you would! Fly over here, not kick their asses, I mean. Then I could steal you away when you get here and drag you to the nearest courthouse. Stick a ring on your finger, say I do, and then never let you go again.”

Stevie smiles at him. “Make love for a few weeks, and then adopt a baby or two? Find a nice house with a decent garden, have all those sleepless nights when the little one can’t sleep and we all end up on the sofa at three in the morning watching telly?”

Jamie smiles. Stevie’s not there, that’s true, and he won’t be there for a little while yet, but this—this is the next best thing. “We’ll have to make sure we lock the door when we make love, or they’ll walk in on us! And we’ll have to learn to be quiet, too.”

“Eh, we’ll just soundproof the walls. That’ll be easier than trying to keep you quiet while I’m inside you.”

Jamie flushes. “God, I miss that feeling,” he admits, “your body on mine, Steve. I miss it.”

Stevie’s pupils dilate and he looks at Jamie for a moment. “Me too. And now you’ve brought it up and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m gonna have a problem if we don’t start talking about something else, you know.”

“I know,” Jamie croons, voice lower, “I’m gonna have the same problem and nobody to help me take care of it.”

“You’ve got me to take care of it,” Stevie offers, eyes glinting, “nobody can get you off better, J, even when I’m away.”

Jamie lets Stevie have a good look at his chest, down to his stomach and down to the waistband of his boxers.

“More,” Stevie begs hoarsely, “need to see more. It’s been too long, J.”

Jamie slips his boxers off slowly, enjoying the hitch in Stevie’s breath as he finally sees him, half-hard.

“Want to taste,” Stevie mumbles, “miss having you in me mouth, love. You’re so loud when you’re in me mouth.”

Jamie wants that too, wants it with a visceral desire that he hasn’t felt in a long while. The running and work had exhausted him, and while he and Stevie talked fairly often, they hadn’t had this in what felt like forever, and suddenly Jamie feels the absence keenly.

“Not fair that you’re fully clothed and I’m here naked and so ready for you,” Jamie whines softly, noting how Stevie twitches slightly at the last three words, biting his lip.

Stevie sets the camera down for a moment and strips quickly. “We’re too old to be doing this,” he mutters absently, letting Jamie see his chest and stomach, the skin tan with clearly defined abs that Jamie hadn’t gotten to kiss in far too long.

He lets out an involuntary groan and starts stroking himself slowly. “Show me, Steve. Show me that beautiful cock of yours. I’ve missed it.”

The conversation descends from there, Jamie talking about every fantasy he knows Stevie has and Stevie equaling him at every turn. Jamie climaxes first, which isn’t much of a surprise, but Stevie’s so turned on by it that he follows quickly after, and they just lay there after, breathing deeply and looking at each other.

“I can’t wait to be your husband,” Jamie says suddenly, breaking the silence, and it’s such a stark contrast to the filthy things he’s just said that Stevie smiles.

“You’re not allowed to be away from me when we’re married,” he says lightly, “we’ve had way too many phone wanks, after this we’re just going to have sex like a normal couple.”

Jamie agrees happily, setting the phone against the pillow and laying down next to it. “Let’s get married in early December,” he says, though he’s starting to feel his normal post-orgasmic drowsiness, “don’t want to rush it in November and then have the race hanging over me. Let’s just do it after and then we can celebrate properly, move in together, all that stuff.”

Stevie nods. “Early in December, so we have time to plan it after Istanbul,” he agrees, “that way you won’t be distracted beforehand, you can focus on running. And then afterwards, you can focus on me, the light of your life.”

Jamie huffs a little laugh. “You really are, you know,” he mumbles, blowing Stevie a kiss before he drifts off.

“Sleep well,” Stevie whispers, hanging up so he can go to sleep himself.

The next morning, Ian’s smiling at him and holding a plate of breakfast before his bare foot brushes against the boxers Jamie had forgotten to put back on after last night. In an instant, Ian’s smile drops and he lets out a little shriek, moving back.

“You’re _naked?!_ ”

Jamie hums in agreement.

“Why?”

“Fiancé called last night,” Jamie says with a self-satisfied smirk, “wanted to see.”

Ian makes a face and hands him the plate, carefully avoiding stepping on the underwear as he perches on the edge of the bed. “Just because you’ve told us doesn’t mean we want all the nitty-gritty details,” he says, still looking mildly horrified, “you’re my friend, James, and my runner. I love you to bits, whoever you’re seeing, but I don’t need to stay informed on your sex life.”

“Eh, your loss, we have fantastic sex,” Jamie says flippantly, tucking into the eggs and bacon, “he does this thing with his tongue when he goes down on me—“

Ian reaches over and flicks him in the nose. “Bad James. Don’t mess with me like that.”

“What? It’s true!”

Ian looks at his face, processes what Jamie said and the honestly in his expression, and lets out a sigh.

“Okay, J, you had your fun, that’s enough now. I haven’t eaten yet, and if you keep on like this, I don’t think I’ll be able to, and then Joe’s gonna have to drag both our asses back to Liverpool, so have pity on him at least.”

Jamie does have a soft spot for the middle-aged Scotsman who takes care of all his knocks, so he lays off, focusing on his food instead. “Tea or coffee?” he grumbles, “woke up in the middle of the night.”

Ian hands him a cup of tea and mildly reminds him to take a breath now and again as he eats.

Jamie takes the suggestion under advisement and decides against it, shoveling food into his mouth as quickly as he can until his plate is clean and his stomach is uncomfortably full.

He finds his phone and scrambles through the messages he’s gotten, congratulations on having finished the race, some reminding him to take care of himself, please. There’s one from Gary saying that he’s under contract so if Jamie could please not die and leave him to Redders, that would be good.

There’s one new one from Stevie too, just a simple _I’m so proud of you_ , and a heart.

He smiles fondly.

“Is that from him?” Ian asks curiously.

“Yeah. Said he’s proud of me. He’s a soft lad, you know. But we’re both a bit soft when we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Ian hums, “it’s hard, being away from the one you love.”

Jamie nods. “He’s coming for a visit soon,” he says softly, “I can’t wait. And we’re going to get married, when he does. After Istanbul.”

“I’m happy for you, mate,” Ian says softly, “I really am. I could see you were missing something—I thought maybe it was just football, or some sort of midlife crisis or something, but it turned out to be some _one_ instead.”

Jamie shrugs. “It’s five thousand miles to where he is,” he admits quietly, not looking Ian in the eyes.

It all clicks into place and Ian pulls Jamie into a hug. “Oh, _J_.”

“It helps fill the gap,” Jamie whispers, clinging tightly to his coach, “and I’ll feel like a failure if I can’t do it.”

“We’ll get you through it, James. Even if I have to carry you on my back, we’ll get you through it somehow.”

If Jamie wasn’t already dead in love with his best mate, he might’ve kissed Ian for that, but as it is, he lets the hug go on for a long moment before he pulls away.

He clears his throat, and leans over to pick up the mug of tea on the nightstand, adding a bit of sugar and a dash of milk before he stirs and starts sipping. “So we’re leaving soon, right?”

“Yeah, we’ve got time for breakfast and a shower and for Joe to work on you for a bit before we go to the airport.”

Jamie nods and sips on his tea, taking some time out to call his mother. “I’m fine, mum,” he says, rolling his eyes at Ian, “just ran a bit, that’s all. Oh, you saw that? No, I just tripped, didn’t do more than just skin my knees, I swear. You can ask Ian, even.”

“It’s true, Mrs. Carra,” Ian says obligingly, “I’m here with him, he’s doing fine, just normal muscle soreness. He did great yesterday, I was so proud!”

Jamie’s mum promptly perks up at the praise of her son and predictably starts praising him, telling him how proud she is. She asks about Stevie after a while.

“Yeah, we spoke yesterday. He’s good, Mum. And I woke up in the middle of the night and he hadn’t gone to bed yet, so I called him again and we talked again for a little bit.”

Jamie’s quiet for a moment, listening to his mother’s voice, suddenly worried. “No, Mum, it’s okay, he knows. I told him and Joe last night.”

They wind down the conversation, and Jamie hangs up.

“So your family knows, then?” Ian asks softly.

Jamie laughs out loud. “My mum knew I loved him before I did,” he says flippantly, “nothing gets past her. Or his mum, either. Found out the other day they’d been talking about us getting married for years, the clever things.”

Ian smiles, and pats him on the shoulder. “Finish up your tea and start getting packed up and showered. And dressed. I can’t believe I’ve spent the last half hour sitting on a bed with you naked—your lad wouldn’t be happy with me.”

Jamie smirks. “Better go, then, let me get dressed and showered and then send Joe in for a bit of a stretch or a massage before we head out.”

“He’s still sleeping, the lazy lad,” Ian mutters, ruffling Jamie’s hair and getting up before he heads out.

Jamie gets ready and everything goes well, and soon they’re back home in Liverpool, with Jamie’s old schoolmates greeting them alongside Jamie’s family.

He heads home and sleeps off the race as best as he can, and walks for an hour in the afternoon to use his muscles as gently as he can to keep from getting too stiff or tight. He eats steak and rice and vegetables and plays with his nieces and nephews and lets them climb all over him without complaint. He tosses his little nephew up in the air, grinning at the shrieking giggles and the way the little arms hold him tight around the neck when he catches him every single time.

He misses it, when his mother snaps a few pictures of him and sends them to Stevie, so he’s surprised when he gets a text from him a few minutes later.

 _You’re going to be such a good dad_ , it says.

Jamie flushes a bit. He looks up, and catches his mother’s eye.

“Did you send him pictures?”

“Course I did. You looked sweet, and I thought he’d like to see.”

Jamie smiles. “I’ll look into a few adoption agencies,” he says quietly, “we can’t adopt until he comes home for good—it wouldn’t be fair on him to not live with me and the baby, but I’ll get started on the background checks at least, and let them know when we can take a little one home, so we can get it done soon after he gets back.”

His nephew squeals excitedly from his spot in Jamie’s lap. “We’re gonna have a _cousin?!_ ”

“Yeah, kiddo, Uncle Stevie and I are gonna adopt a baby,” Jamie says softly, and he goes through the whole process with the little boy, explaining how the baby won’t grow in their bellies because boy bellies can’t grow babies and so instead they’ll get to adopt a baby who doesn’t have a family for some reason.

He listens and his little round face grows serious. “You should adopt all the babies, Uncle Jamie. They all need to have a good family.”

Jamie’s stuck for words until his mother comes to the rescue.

“That wouldn’t be fair, love, because there’s so many other families that can’t have a baby and if Uncle Jamie adopted all of them, they wouldn’t get a baby!”

He considers this, and nods, content with the argument. “Are you gonna get a boy or a girl?”

“I think we’re leaning towards boy,” Jamie says honestly, “but we’re going to see. Sometimes you just go and you find the right one and it’s not what you expect. That’s how your Uncle Stevie and I fell in love, you know. Didn’t expect it to be him. So maybe we will end up picking a little girl.”

The little boy nods solemnly, before asking if they can go play outside. Jamie laughs and agrees, standing up and tossing him up towards the ceiling to hear how he squeals in joy before he catches him again.  
\---

The days pass quickly, after that. Jamie starts to get used to it, to the empty side of the bed and the fading smell of Stevie’s cologne on his pillow. He’s still counting down the days until Stevie comes back, of course, can’t wait until he gets to touch him and hold him and kiss him again, but he manages.

He runs, goes to work, teases Gary a bit, texts Stevie now and again, finds time to lift a few times a week so his muscles don’t absolutely waste away, and watches Stevie’s matches whenever he can.

October is… tough. The Galaxy are heading into playoffs, and while Jamie would never want Stevie to lose, and wants him to win the whole thing, he can’t help but think that if they did lose, Stevie could come home sooner, and it’s so tempting to wish to have him close for as long as he can before the next season starts.

He feels a complex mix of emotions about football as a whole for awhile, hating that England didn’t seem to have any place for Stevie anymore and drove him away and equally hating himself for half wanting Stevie’s team to lose so he can just come home.

He copes in the usual ways—sleeping pills at night, talking to Stevie less because he feels guilty, running more, running harder, coming home to stretch and have an ice bath and go to sleep. The worse he feels emotionally, the more Spartan his life becomes. Work, food, sleep, exercise. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat.

October’s starting to wind down and he’s talking to Stevie only about once a week at this point, can’t stand to talk to him when his emotions are such a mess. He calls to wish him good luck before each match, but doesn’t watch them, afraid that he’ll somehow jinx them, just by wanting Stevie to come back.

The Galaxy lose two in a row and Jamie starts to hate himself for the little flutter of hope that wonders if it’ll be soon that he gets to see his lad. He calls before the first round of the playoffs and wishes Stevie luck, feeling worry gnaw at his stomach when he sees how tired Stevie looks, how exhausted and unhappy, with new lines in his face. He watches that one, more just to assure himself that Stevie’s okay than for anything else, and the Galaxy lose to the Seattle Sounders in the first round.

Once it’s over, Jamie hates that Stevie’s lost, but he’s elated that he’s coming home. He waits until the next morning to text Stevie for his flight details, overjoyed when he checks his email a few minutes later and sees Stevie’s flight itinerary—he’s landing late that night.

Jamie jumps into overdrive in a way he’s never done before, cleaning up the house and making sure they have the biscuits Stevie likes and the tea and enough sugar and milk. He goes out and buys Stevie’s favorite Carlsberg beer. He goes to Nando’s, picks up a few orders of the spicy chicken that Stevie likes, just in case that’s what he feels like having. He even calls Stevie’s mother and asks if she wouldn’t mind walking him through a few simple recipes so Stevie’s got something decent to eat.

He has so much energy that he finishes way too early and arrives at the airport, parking and waiting at the arrivals area and trying to look as nondescript as possible, which isn’t very, at Liverpool’s international airport, him being who he is.

So he busies himself signing autographs and taking pictures and talking to kids until Stevie’s flight lands, and then he starts to hint that he’s got to go pick up a friend, and the people understand and let him go about his business.

Stevie’s wearing headphones and the same sweater Jamie had given him before he’d left, and Jamie almost wants to cry, seeing him in person, seeing his scruff and his eyes, crinkling as he spots Jamie and smiles.

Jamie walks towards him quickly and hugs him tight, almost lost for words.

“Hi, J,” Stevie says tenderly, the words whispered against Jamie’s neck.

Jamie clears his throat, and pulls away after another moment. “Hi, Steve. I parked over here, come out and I’ll drive you home, yeah?”

Stevie smiles and Jamie’s heart squeezes in his chest at how happy he looks. They get stopped by a few kids, though, and Stevie agrees to take photos with them even though Jamie can tell he doesn’t want to. It’s late, he’s tired, and he hasn’t even kissed him yet. But Stevie’s nothing if not infinitely patient, so he leans down and smiles for the cameras, waving his hands after a few minutes to apologize for not being able to stay longer. Jamie lifts his suitcase into the boot of the car and watches as Stevie lets himself into the passenger seat. Jamie climbs in too, and as soon as they’ve pulled out of the lot, he reaches over to hold Stevie’s hand.

“I love you,” he says quietly, “I missed you so much, Stevie, you have no idea.”

Stevie laughs sadly. “I think I have _some_ idea, J. Missed you too, you know.”

“I know,” Jamie agrees, “let me take you home, I had your mum teach me a few different things to make for you and I have Nando’s in case it’s all awful, okay?”

Stevie nods, and lets himself slump down in his seat, closing his eyes. “God, I missed your voice, J. Sounds different over the phone, you know.”

“You’ll be tired of it in a few days,” Jamie jokes, “after I’ve talked your ear off.”

Stevie smiles a bit, but shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that voice. It’s my favorite sound in the world.”

Jamie sees an automatic car wash and suddenly turns the car into it, paying for the longest wash they have. There’s no line, so they drive ahead.

Stevie looks kind of confused for a minute, turning to look at Jamie. “Why are we here? Car wash couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No,” Jamie says simply, parking the car as the water starts to spray and immediately leaning over to pull Stevie into a kiss. “ _I_ couldn’t wait until we got home,” he mumbles, still against Stevie’s lips.

Stevie flushes and hugs him tight, kissing him again and again. They ignore the soap being sprayed onto the car, and then the next spray of water to rinse it off, and then some purple foam of some kind. Jamie didn’t know or care what it was, he’d paid for the longest, most extensive one on the list.

Besides, he could not have cared less, not when Stevie was in his arms and kissing his neck and then his jaw and his cheeks and holding him so close.

“It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to hold you,” Jamie mutters, running his hand through Stevie’s hair, “too long since I’ve gotten to touch you.”

Stevie hums in agreement, pulling him back in for another kiss. They keep going at it like teenagers until there’s a honk from behind them. They spring apart instantly and Jamie flushes and drives forward.

Stevie suddenly looks much more awake and laughs as they get back on the road. “That was brilliant, J. Should’ve thought of that when we were kids sneaking around—would’ve been way better than fooling around in the back of the bus when everyone else was asleep.”

“Hey! I enjoyed fooling around in the back of the bus, thanks very much. It’s a holy miracle we never got caught, honestly.”

“Not much of a miracle—we just pretended to be asleep whenever someone came to use the loo and nobody else wanted to be near the toilet anyway, so we had some space to ourselves.”

Stevie’s utterly relaxed as Jamie pulls into his driveway and hands him the keys. “Go on, I’ll get your bags, love.”

Stevie smiles, and he opens the door and waits for Jamie to follow behind with the suitcase. By the time Jamie closes the door, Stevie’s already unbuttoning his shirt.

“Can’t wait to have you in bed with me,” Jamie whispers, looking at him, “sleeping alone is awful.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Stevie jokes. Jamie knows it’s a joke, and so he laughs and smacks him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hush, Steven, I don’t share my boys,” he replies.

“Boys?! I’m the only boy you’ll ever need, and I’m not a boy at all, I’m a man!”

Jamie grins and lets himself be pulled upstairs and stripped hurriedly before they get into bed.

“I made you food, Steve, if you’re hungry,” he says idly, but Stevie just shakes his head and wraps his arms around Jamie’s middle and he’s asleep just a few minutes later.

Jamie smiles and kisses his hair, and lets his own eyes close, too, drifting off to the warmth by his side and the familiar scent in his nose.   
\---

The morning is cold and cloudy and Jamie couldn’t be happier. He wakes up late, with Stevie in his arms, just starting to shift.

“Wake up, love,” Jamie says softly, “I know it’s bedtime in LA, but it’s breakfast time here.” Stevie nods against his chest and keeps his eyes stubbornly closed.

He opens them when Jamie leans down and presses his lips to Stevie’s, though. “Good morning,” he says sleepily.

“It is when you’re here,” Jamie says sweetly, earning a little kiss to the cheek as a reward.

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah, I’ll make you something. What do you want, pancakes? Waffles?”

Stevie leans up and whispers in his ear, and Jamie flushes. “That is _way_ too sexy for this early in the morning, Steven.”

“No it’s not! It’s the right amount of sexy for this early in the morning,” Stevie whines.

Jamie laughs and lays him down, settling on top of him before kissing him again. Stevie puts his hands on Jamie’s shoulders and pushes just slightly, enough that Jamie gets the picture and lowers himself under the covers. He tugs Stevie’s boxers down and promptly begins sucking.

Stevie lets out a groan. “ _J_ —“

It’s been so long since he’s heard that, since he’s made Stevie feel like this, and it’s incredibly arousing. He reaches up and finds Stevie’s hand, holding it in his own and feeling Stevie’s other hand settle in his hair, caressing and encouraging as Jamie takes in more and more of him.

Stevie pulls his hand away for a moment and the next thing Jamie knows, he surrounded by cool air as Stevie pulls the duvet away from him, moaning aloud at the sight. Jamie’s eyes meet his and he lets out a hoarse “ _James_ ,” before begging shamelessly for more.

Jamie’s happy to oblige, and soon enough, Stevie can’t quite stand it anymore and comes with a gasp, fingers clenched in Jamie’s hair. Jamie swallows it and pulls away, smirking as he lets Stevie pull him in for a kiss.

“Amazing,” Stevie says softly, kissing him again, “you, you are just amazing, J. I love you so much.”

Jamie laughs and guides Stevie’s hand downwards. “Then touch me,” he says simply, “I want you to touch me, Stevie. Please.”

Stevie shifts and lets his hand slip under the waistband of Jamie’s boxers, stroking him slowly as they kiss. Jamie lets out a breathy little moan and Stevie grins, happy to hear how he affects him.

“Nobody took care of you while I was gone, did they?” he croons, watching Jamie shake his head. “Oh no, my poor lad, you didn’t have anyone touching you like this?”

“Just me, just me having a wank and thinking about you,” Jamie confesses, “there isn’t anybody like you. Didn’t even _want_ anyone. Just wanted you.”

Stevie’s clearly pleased to hear that and kisses him again, stroking more quickly as Jamie whimpers. “So pretty like this, James,” he whispers, “so pretty when you’re like this for me, with my hand on your dick and my come in your mouth.”

Jamie shivers at the feeling of Stevie’s hot breath against his neck, letting his eyes drift closed for a second until he feels Stevie’s teeth biting just gently at the sensitive spot on his neck.

“Eyes open, James. Look at me,” Stevie says quietly, voice firm enough that Jamie bites his lip, aroused at the commanding tone.

He looks at him as Stevie jerks him off faster until his back arches and his muscles tighten as he lets out a strangled moan, coming harder than he had since the last time he’d seen his fiancé.

Stevie looks incredibly satisfied, and pulls his hand out of Jamie’s boxers, wiping it on a tissue before he pulls Jamie into another kiss.

“Told you that was the right amount of sexy for the morning,” he says smugly and Jamie laughs and hugs him.

“Okay, okay, you were right. I missed morning sex,” he admits, rubbing at Stevie’s back and feeling how relaxed his muscles have gone. He leans over to the nightstand and opens the drawer.

“Not now, babe, I need a bit more time before I can get it up again and then you can fuck me, I promise—“ Stevie says lazily.

“It’s not that,” Jamie says, suddenly nervous even though he knows very well he has no reason to be. “Just—I got you this. Thought it was only fair.”

He sets the little velvet box down in front of Stevie, opening it to reveal the simple white gold ring with an engraved pattern on the outside.

Stevie doesn’t say anything for a moment, and it’s long enough for Jamie to start to panic. “You don’t have to wear it,” he says instantly, “it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to wear it, Stevie. Or you can wear it on a chain, if you want, around your neck? That way it’s not as obvious. But I know you might not want to wear it around your teammates, or out in public—“

“Shut the fuck up, James Lee Duncan Carragher, and _ask me_ ,” Stevie says, voice very nearly shaking.

“What?”

“Ask me,” Stevie says again, “ _please_.”

Things finally click and Jamie sits up, helping Stevie sit up too. “Steven George Gerrard,” he starts quietly, a little awkward because he only ever uses Stevie’s middle name when they’re fighting, “you’re the love of my life. You know that, right? I know we don’t say things like that much, but it is true. You’re the love of my life, and I would be the happiest man in the world if you would agree to marry me.”

Stevie doesn’t say anything then, either, but the way he throws his arms around Jamie and hugs him tight, and the way his eyes shine when Jamie slides the ring onto his finger says enough.

 


	7. Chapter 7

They do the obligatory rounds to the family the next day, Stevie beaming and showing off his ring to anyone who’ll listen. Their parents are happy for them, their brothers think it’s about goddamn time, and their nieces and nephews just want piggyback rides and to play football and Barbies, and so of course Stevie and Jamie agree to anything.

“You’re gonna spoil my grandchild rotten when you get one,” Stevie’s mum starts saying affectionately.

“Probably,” Jamie admits, “but you’ll be there to tell us when we’re going too far, Mum.”

Her eyes fill up at being called mum, and he pulls her into a tight hug. “Stevie always says happy tears are allowed,” he says quietly. She laughs wetly and pulls away from him.

“You have made my son the happiest man in the world,” she says, holding Jamie’s hands in hers, “and I’m so grateful to you for that.”

Jamie beams at her. “Your son’s made me the happiest man in the world too, and I’m so grateful to you, for raising him the way you did to make him the man he is today.”

She very nearly tips back over into tears, but manages to contain herself.

Jamie’s mother is much the same with Stevie, and their nieces and nephews are running around, shrieks of laughter and bits of warm conversation filling the house.

Through it all, Stevie finds Jamie and pulls him away, into a quiet corner of the house and pulls him into a kiss. “I love them all,” he mutters, “but I wouldn’t have minded just spending a quiet day with you, babe.”

Jamie smiles at the words and hugs him close. “Tomorrow, love. We’ll have a quiet day at home tomorrow. I promise.”

They do have quiet days at home, now and again.

But usually, Jamie wakes up before Stevie does, in the early, early hours, so he can go running. He goes running when Stevie’s visiting his family, he goes running while Stevie’s running errands, or taking a nap, or going to the gym.

But mostly, he goes running in the morning. It’s best that way, because then Stevie won’t know exactly how long he’s gone, or how far he runs. It gnaws at Jamie, knowing that he’s keeping things from Stevie.

That doesn’t stop him from doing it.

He racks up more and more miles, calls Ian and keeps him updated on his progress. He does a long run every week, sometimes twice a week, if he can find a decent window of time to fit it in without Stevie getting suspicious.

He starts having a bit of pain, here and there. In his foot, or his knee, or his hip. Sometimes even in his chest, where he’d had the lung reinflation surgery years ago.

But it’s okay, though. It’s not that bad, he reasons with himself. He adds in a few more ice baths into his life and stretches more and if all else fails, he calls his physio—Joe’s absolutely magic when it comes to moving Jamie’s body in just such a way as to ease the pain.

They settle into a routine—Jamie goes up to London every week or two, for MNF, and occasionally, he has to travel to different stadiums to do broadcasts on site, for Soccer Saturdays, or Friday Night Football.

“They’re really working you hard, love,” Stevie says one night, laying next to him in bed, both panting and naked, “you’re always tired now. They ask a lot of you. Are you happy at work, J?”

The truth is that Jamie is happy at work. He can run when he’s in London, as much and as fast as he can, and he can do it without feeling a pit in his stomach, or a tight knot of anxiety, wondering whether he’s going to tell Stevie the truth or lie to him.

But the whole truth is that Jamie’s gotten used to being overworked. He’d thrown himself into work after Stevie had left, and all he’d had was work and running. Even though Stevie’s back now, he can’t quite find a way to switch off his instinct to bury himself in work, and when he gets home, he’s exhausted.

That’s not to say that Jamie isn’t absolutely overjoyed every single day when he wakes up with Stevie and every single night he sleeps next to him.

He’s been through too much to be ungrateful when all he’s ever wanted is right there next to him, snoring softly.

They travel down to Istanbul in November. They stay near the starting point for the race, and eat rice and pasta at the runners’ pre-race party, until Jamie’s positive he’s gonna throw it all up and Stevie decides it’s time to get him into bed.

Stevie’s curious about Jamie’s racing, though. He likes sitting in on meetings with Jamie and Ian and Joe, where they discuss the makeup of the course, how to pace himself on the downhills and maintain himself on the uphill parts. He listens while Joe tells him what times would be best for a bathroom break, how frequently he should be hydrating—Istanbul is more humid than Galway and Loch Ness had been, and it’s warmer and sunnier, too. The chance of a comfortable, overcast day are slim.

“Make sure you’re drinking lots,” Joe says, and it’s quiet and serious, and he doesn’t break away from Jamie’s eyes as he speaks. “I know you get caught up in the rhythm, I know the race can go by fast without you noticing, but you haven’t trained much in this kind of weather. You’re going to sweat more and you’re going to need to rehydrate more.”

Jamie can make out Stevie’s look of concern out of the corner of his eye and moves instinctively to hold his hand, flushing when he realizes what he’s done.

“Cat’s out of the bag, then,” he mutters with a sheepish smile, looking at Ian and Joe.

“Surprise,” Stevie says lightly, grinning as he proudly shows off his engagement ring. “It would be good if we could keep it secret though, lads, yeah?”

They nod, dumbfounded, and it’s quiet for a few moments before Ian tries to talk about the race again.

“So when did you two start?”

“When was it, J?”

“Six, seven years ago? We were pretty young, mid-twenties, wild and stupidly horny all the time. I think we got drunk at a party and made out and in the morning, I was in Steve’s bed naked.”

Stevie grins at the memory. “Tried to put it behind us, didn’t we, love? But then it happened a few more times and the game was up after that. Finally stopped hiding behind the alcohol and just asked him out on a date like a grown man.”

Jamie smiles at him, mind going back to that first night, sitting in a fancy restaurant and letting Stevie pay the bill and walking back to the car with their hands brushing against each other with each step.

“We didn’t exactly go slow, either,” he notes, remembering how Stevie had pressed him against the door and asked him to stay. He remembers the feeling of the doorknob pressing into his back and Stevie pressing into his chest, and hot breath against his neck.

He remembers saying yes and it feels like he’s never said no to Stevie since.

“Yeah, I think I told you I loved you before the first month was up.” Stevie’s smiling.

Jamie remembers it perfectly, the way his heart had stopped in his chest, the way his whole world had shrunk down to one man with sincere eyes and an odd hairline. He’d said it back, when he regained the ability to speak, and Stevie had flown at him, hugging him tight and flicking his ear for taking such a long time to respond.

 _You nearly gave me a heart attack, J!_ He’d said, in between giddy laughter and impatient kisses that cut off sentences in the middle. _Thought you’d tell me you didn’t feel the same._

_I do. God, Stevie, I do._

Here they are now, seven years later, and Jamie can’t wait to say those words again, in a courthouse or in a church or in bed or wherever Stevie wants him to.

“Turned out okay, though, didn’t it?” Jamie says lightly, looking at him, “you could’ve done worse, I bet. Not much worse, but—“

Stevie laughs, in that loud way that he’d laughed at Jamie’s jokes in the beginning, in the way he laughed when he wanted someone’s affection.

“I think that’s enough prep, don’t you?” Jamie asks Ian, though his eyes are still on Stevie, “we can finish prepping tomorrow and then the race is the day after, we’ve got lots of time to get settled—“

Ian takes the hint and rises to his feet, but he shifts his weight uncomfortably from one side to the other for a moment. “Uh, you are going to be doing a lot of running, J. So I wouldn’t—um, anything that makes running more painful might not be a great idea, probably. I don’t want to be the mean coach who shuts you down when you have so little time together, I just don’t think you’re going to enjoy twenty six miles running after you two—you know.”

Ian’s redder than a tomato by the time he’s done, and Jamie can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t worry,” Stevie says smoothly, “Jamie’s going to be perfectly able to run his twenty-six miles. Luckily, both of us being lads means we can be a bit more _flexible_ , and _I’m_ not planning on running anywhere anytime soon.”

Ian looks even redder, and he can’t meet either of their eyes. “Might as well hurl myself out the fucking window,” he mutters to himself, “fucking _knew_ I didn’t have to say anything, but I just figured better safe than sorry, you know. Sorry, I’ll leave you two alone now.”

Stevie pulls Jamie a little closer and smiles at Ian. “Thanks, mate. I haven’t had my husband alone in way too long.”

“Almost husband,” Jamie says sweetly, holding Stevie’s hands in his own, “I can’t wait to be, though.”

Ian’s gone a moment later, and Stevie pulls away and looks at Jamie, grinning wickedly.

“Did you see the poor man’s _face_?”

They both burst into laughter. “Can’t believe my lad’s terrorizing my coach and I’m laughing about it! I’m marrying a child—“

Stevie pounces on him and they wrestle, until suddenly Stevie’s on his back and Jamie’s kissing him hard. It happens like that a lot, where they’re just having fun together and then suddenly one of them is hit by a sudden surge of lust, and the other is never too far behind.

Jamie yanks at Stevie’s shirt and tosses it to the ground, followed by his own, and then their trousers follow a moment later, and boxers after that. “Can’t believe I’m about to fuck you senseless in a hotel when my coach is in the next room,” Jamie murmurs.

Stevie only groans at the thought. After actually meeting the man, he’d realized that Ian was nothing to be jealous of, but being in bed alone in L.A. made a man think bad thoughts. He’d tortured himself for a few minutes every night, suddenly caught up in doubts about whether Jamie was still in love with him or whether he was falling for someone else. He’d worried about Gary at first, but that was the devil he knew, at least. This Ian character had come out of nowhere and gone from being a complete stranger to one of Jamie’s best friends in a matter of months. It was kind of terrifying, knowing that Stevie had been Jamie’s best friend once, too, and look at how that had turned out.

But he finally feels at peace with it all. Ian knows that Jamie’s gay, he knows that he’s engaged, he knows he’s in love with Stevie, and he doesn’t care. Besides, Jamie doesn’t have eyes for anyone else when Stevie’s around, and even _he’s_ not quite insecure enough not to see that.

There’s a gasp and a groan as Jamie pushes into him, and a moment later, that gorgeous mouth Stevie dreams of every night is busy teasing one of his nipples.

If Stevie’d had any thought of being quiet, it evaporates in a heartbeat, and he doesn’t bother to muffle himself. Nor does Jamie ask him to. They’re shameless for once, emboldened by acceptance and intoxicated by the nearness of their marriage.

Stevie wakes up slightly sore but completely sated. Jamie’s next to him, bare except for the sheets twisted up around his hips. He’s not holding him, really, but his hand is on Stevie’s stomach. It’s new, the way Jamie always keeps in contact with him while they sleep. It used to be that Jamie would snuggle and then overheat and pull away, so they often didn’t touch at all when they woke. But since Stevie had gone to L.A., Jamie keeps close, whenever they’re together—fingers brushing against his neck, or foot resting against Stevie’s ankle, or head on his chest.

Stevie knows exactly why.

He loves being with Jamie, every single day is just easier than when he’s alone in a country that’s no less foreign for having a house there.

Still, in the pit of his stomach, there’s a paranoid hyperawareness of how much time he has left. _Not enough. Never enough._

The sunlight’s in his eyes, and he lets out a quiet grunt, turning his head to hide against Jamie’s neck so they can sleep some more.

That’s when he realizes that their bed doesn’t smell like their bed. Jamie’s there, but the sheets aren’t their sheets. They’re in a hotel.

It all comes flooding back. It’s race day. Stevie knows he isn’t competing anymore, but he still feels the rush of adrenaline coursing through him all of a sudden.

It’s hard, to have played together and competed together for years and years and now to know that they weren’t. Jamie would be running alone, and when Stevie went back to LA, he would be playing alone, too. It makes his heart ache a little bit.

He loves Jamie more than anything, and he can’t help but miss that connection, seeing each other in the locker room, flirting in weighty glances and mumbled remarks and double entendres.

He looks at Jamie, looks at his arm and his neck and imagines the skin glistening with sweat, the muscles flexing as he pumps his arms, running for miles upon miles.

There’s a knock at the door, and Stevie’s almost glad to be taken out of his train of thought. It was getting a bit morbid. He grabs a pair of boxers and walks over to the door, not even realizing that the boxers are Jamie’s.

He opens the door to Ian and Joe. Ian is red, looking down and intently examining the pattern of the carpet. Joe, on the other hand is perfectly normal, and it’s funny to see when Ian’s so clearly uncomfortable.

“How are you?” Joe asks politely, “is J up yet?”

“I’m having a bit of a midlife crisis, and J’s still asleep, but I’ll wake him. You two can come in, but he’s a bit of a baby when he wakes up.”

They come in and watch as Stevie grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and yanks them over his head.

He settles on the bed next to Jamie and rubs his shoulder. “Morning,” he whispers, “it’s time to wake up, love.”

Jamie lets out an unhappy grunt and opens one eye. “Come back,” he whines, pulling Stevie closer, “‘n yer wearing too many clothes.”

Stevie leans in a little closer and kisses Jamie’s cheek. “Baby, it’s race day,” he says gently, one hand combing through Jamie’s hair, “I don’t want to make you tea because the caffeine won’t do you any good before the race, and water’s better for you.”

Joe lets out a little cough.

“Or whatever drink he’s got for you,” Stevie corrects with a little smile, “come on, love, wake up now. We’ll get you fed and dressed and stretched out so your muscles are all nice and loose. And I’ll be right there, waiting for you at the finish line.”

Jamie smiles at the image and finally opens his eyes, yawning and sitting up, stiffening as he realizes that they’re not alone. He flushes, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry you had to see that, we’re not normally so—well, we are, but in private, not in front of other people.”

“It’s alright, mate. You’re a grown man, you’re engaged, and you’re allowed to be affectionate,” Joe says gently, “you’re in a hotel room with your fiancé, if anyone should be apologizing, it’s us. You don’t get enough time together as it is, the two of you.”

Jamie shrugs, and Stevie moves slightly away, to give him some space. He can feel the wall going up. He knows it’s not personal, but it’s strange, to be open with people after so long spent hiding it.

“We’ll come meet you downstairs for breakfast,” he says quietly, looking up at the two men, “I’d like a few minutes alone with him, if that’s okay?”

Ian nods, and Joe smiles. “He’s your lad through and through, you don’t have to ask for permission.” They head out, and Jamie instantly relaxes. He shifts until he’s against Stevie again and just melts into him.

“Sorry I kind of freaked out,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to Stevie’s neck.

“It’s okay. I’ll probably be the same once we come out. It’ll take some time to get used to. Especially since we were in bed this time, that must be strange, to think you’re waking up to me like always and then suddenly they’re in our room—“

“Bit of a mindfuck,” Jamie mutters, “can’t imagine how it’ll be when we have kids, running into our room whenever they feel like it. But it’ll be worth it, when we get there.”

Stevie flushes. “Keep talking about kids, J, and we’ll never leave this room. Or we will, so I can drag you to a courthouse and then to an adoption agency.”

Jamie grins, but doesn’t say anything else. They don’t talk much as they get ready. The quiet is normal for them, especially on match days, and for Jamie, that’s exactly what this is. Stevie steps into the shower after him and kisses him chastely a few times as they scrub themselves down. Jamie’s just reaching for the shampoo when Stevie beats him to it, squeezing some out and massaging it into Jamie’s hair.

“You have a bit more gray,” he says absently, “it suits you, love. I like it.”

Jamie smiles at him and doesn’t say anything, settling for just holding him close.

They brush their teeth and make faces at each other in the mirror before getting dressed. Stevie’s careful as he applies sun cream all over Jamie’s torso, trying to ignore that he’ll sweat it off in under an hour.

“Love you.” Stevie wants to say it, once when they’re in private before jamie goes out for the race.

“I love you, too. After this I swear I’m all yours for the rest of your offseason. I’ll still need to keep up with training runs but they’ll be flexible.”

Stevie had tried not to let on that he felt like he was coming second in Jamie’s life, after running. Once he’d gotten back to Liverpool, he hadn’t felt it as much, it was only a couple of hours a day that Jamie was gone, usually, and he always tried to make it when Stevie was busy doing other things himself. But it is nice, to know that Jamie’s going to make him his top priority.

“We’ll find some way to keep you fit. Even if we stay in bed all day, I’ll find a way to get your heart rate up.” Stevie smirks and Jamie just laughs.

“Save it for when I get done. And don’t think you’re getting lucky tonight, babe, I’m going to sleep for a long time after this, and my legs will be too sore to do anything fun.”

Stevie nods. “Just run a good race for me, okay? And don’t you dare hurt yourself. If you do, you pull out of the race right then. Not finishing is better than finishing and being out for two months after, James, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Jamie says flirtatiously, before his expression goes serious, “don’t worry about me, love, I’m going to be fine. If there’s any unusual pain, I’ll stop. I have a schedule to keep, you know. Can’t afford to be out for long.”

Stevie ponders over that, wonders about that schedule, but doesn’t ask, heading down with Jamie to meet Ian and Joe for breakfast.

They eat and Ian steers the conversation to the race, going over the terrain again and drilling Jamie on when he’s planning on taking bathroom breaks, when he’s supposed to eat something, how much water he should be drinking, and a million other particulars.

Jamie nods, and his leg starts to bounce under the table until Stevie rests a hand on his knee.

“Save your energy for the race, J.”

Jamie nods, covering Stevie’s hand with his own. Stevie can feel his fingers tracing the small gold band on Stevie’s fourth finger, and he relaxes a little bit.

“He’s never been this way before a race before, you know,” Ian says confidentially, after Joe and Jamie head up for a pre-race stretch and massage. “It’s because he wants to impress you, I think. Wants to show you how good he is at this.”

Stevie smiles. “He’s always been a bit of a showoff. He knows he better not get hurt, though, or he’ll be in lots of trouble.”

Ian smiles, and wonders whether he should tell Stevie what he knows—that Jamie’s trying to run the distance between Liverpool and Los Angeles in the time that Stevie’s gone. If there’s anyone who can talk him out of it, it’s Stevie, surely…

He can’t quite make himself do it, though. His loyalty is to Jamie first, and Jamie wants to do this. He’s a grown man, he’s doing it in a safe and regulated way, and he’s been checking in with medical professionals regularly to make sure he’s not hurting himself.

He doesn’t admit to himself that he doesn’t know what Jamie will do if this gets taken away from him too. He doesn’t want to know, either. He can imagine a drunk Jamie asleep on a table, or a tired Jamie not sleeping at all. At least running gives him purpose, even if it’ll break him eventually.

Ian feels uneasy, and he can’t quite shake it, so he promises himself he’ll try to sit Jamie down at some point and talk to him about it one on one.

He and Stevie make small talk for a few minutes over coffee and then head upstairs to go check in on Jamie, who’s wearing a pained expression as Joe stretches him out.

“End with a massage, will you? Something nice before the real pain starts,” Stevie says lightly, flopping onto the bed next to him.

Jamie mutters something about strangling him, but Stevie just laughs, leaning over to press a chaste little kiss to Jamie’s shoulder.

They stay until it’s time to go, Stevie idly taking Jamie’s hand in his own as he watches telly and Ian talks to Jamie about the race. Finally, it’s time, and they take Jamie to the starting line and say goodbye.

Stevie wants to kiss him suddenly, wants it desperately, to wish his lad good luck in the race, but he knows better. So he just hugs him instead, pulls him in and squeezes him for a few moments until he has to let go or it’ll look suspicious.

“I’ll see you at the finish line, and maybe a few places in between, too, cheer you on. So don’t you go throwing your top at some random Turkish lad, got it?”

Jamie laughs at the words, and the joke loosens him up a little bit.

Stevie stands by the beginning of the race, cheering for him as Jamie starts running and passes him. He wants to run next to him, wants to remind him to eat and to watch his stride and drink lots of water and listen to his body—

Ian tugs on his shoulders when they can’t see Jamie anymore, and they go to the next spot they’ve decided to meet him.

“He’s very in the zone for the first ten or so—wouldn’t even hear us if we did cheer for him. Around fifteen his mind starts to wander and he needs a bit of encouragement, that’s when we’ll go meet him. And then again at twenty, maybe twenty one or so, depending on how he looks at fifteen—and then right there at the end. It’ll be a pain in the ass trying to get in, everyone loves to see the end, but we’ll push and shove and you’ll do wonders if you’re signing autographs for everyone, that’ll get them out of the way, and then we’ll see him cross.”

Stevie frowns as he realizes how much time there’s going to be when he doesn’t see Jamie, and he wonders if that time is just going to be empty, looking at every runner with a red shirt and wondering if it’s Jamie, only to get closer and realize that it’s not. But then it’ll be over, and he’ll see Jamie at the end, and he can take care of him, make sure he rests, make sure he eats properly.

And then it’ll be all about recovering and preparing for the wedding. Thinking about it makes his heart squeeze in his chest, afraid of wanting too much.

Stevie stops thinking about it when Ian pulls him over to the next street and hails a cab. Joe’s on his other side, having seemingly come up out nowhere. They all pile in and communicate mostly through Google translate until they figure out where they need to be and get there.

Jamie starts off kind of slow. He’s hyperaware of the fact that he wants to finish strong, right into Stevie’s arms, and he wants to save energy for that.

He speeds up when he realizes that if he keeps going at this pace, he won’t see Stevie again until nightfall.

The first ten miles go by fast, and it’s harder to keep himself from scanning the crowds lining the street for Stevie’s face than it is to run.

Around fifteen, his mind stops wandering. For the first fifteen, he can just run on autopilot and think about other things, daydream, reminisce in the privacy of his own head. But at fifteen, the pain starts to hit him, a slow burning in his quads and hamstrings. His shins don’t feel great, either. It’s like they’re being ripped in half.

He remembers Stevie’s voice, demanding that he stop if it hurt too much. But this was just slightly above normal. He could take it.

Stevie’s there, then, in the crowd, shouting something that Jamie can’t quite hear over the rush of blood in his ears and the music pouring out of his headphones. But he’s there, and then he’s gone, just another face in the crowd, and Jamie can’t turn back to look at him, no matter how much he wants to.

He keeps running.

Around mile twenty, he sees Stevie again, and manages to forget that his feet don’t really feel like feet anymore, just like sacks of pain and fluid attached to his ankles. He pulls out his headphones this time, and smiles as he can hear Stevie cheering for him. Ian’s there too, telling him something about his pace that he doesn’t quite pay attention to, and Joe’s just cheering, clapping his hands and encouraging him.

They show up again at mile twenty-four, when Jamie’s legs are just sending sharp little signals of pain, even though they don’t get listened to. He beams at them and wishes he had the energy to wave. Part of him worries, though.

What if they can’t get to the finish line in time? What if he didn’t have anyone there to tell him he’d done well, to take care of him when his body gave out?

What if Stevie wasn’t there to hold him at the end?

He’s rounding the end of mile twenty-five, and his brain is no longer capable of thought, hasn’t been in four miles, really. It’s just been cyclic obsession with a chain of words, each one coinciding with the strike of his foot on the ground.

Mile twenty-six is all hills, and the last .2 of a mile is all uphill. His body can’t take it, he knows that, and his lungs are burning and his body hurts and he’s getting close to the top—

He sees the finish line, in between the stars he’s beginning to see. He’s close. He’s so close, he can taste it.

He sees Stevie’s face and shoves a gel into his mouth, determined to finish strong.

He doesn’t have any strength left, so he imagines he’s taking it out of the earth, and moves his legs faster, and faster, until he’s sprinting across the finish line and falling onto his knees.

Stevie’s there, sweet, familiar face lined with worry as he helps him up and takes him over to where Joe and Ian are waiting. As soon as Jamie gets laid out on the towel, his body starts cramping. Not just his legs, his entire body. The muscles tighten and spasm and Stevie ignores how terrifying it is.

Jamie throws a quivering arm over his eyes, grimacing for what seems like years, until the pain finally subsides. His muscles still, and he lays there, utterly silent.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Stevie mutters, “I can’t believe you do this for fun, this is ridiculous.”

Jamie would smile, if he wasn’t afraid that moving any muscle anywhere in his entire body would send him off into another cramp.

“Your legs are shaking,” Stevie marvels, “J, your legs are shaking. This cannot be good for you.” He looks up at Ian and Joe, a new realization in his face. “This _isn’t_ good for him, is it?”

Ian stays silent. Joe tries to offer some support. “He’s in excellent cardiovascular health—“

But Stevie just shakes his head, watching as Joe pulls off Jamie’s shoes and socks, peeling away two of his toenails. Jamie only lets out a little whimper at the pain.

“This isn’t good for him. If he wants to run, he can run shorter distances faster. This is only breaking him down.”

Jamie cracks open his eyes and looks up at him. “Not your decision,” he says simply, before chugging down some water.

Stevie’s face tightens. “I have your mother’s phone number,” he says, voice low and furious, “I can tell her _exactly_ what I’m seeing—“

Jamie lets out a pained groan as Joe starts to stretch him. He’s as gentle as he can be, but it still hurts, and something in the sound pierces Stevie’s anger.

“This isn’t how I pictured meeting you at the finish line,” he mumbles, placing his hand on Jamie’s forehead and stroking through his sweat-soaked hair.

“Me either.”

Stevie takes a deep breath. “I’m proud of you,” he says finally, “running this long is hard, J, and you did it. I’m really, really proud of you. I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.”

“No pain, no—“

“You take that way too far, James.”

Jamie shrugs one shoulder and promptly gets a little smack from Joe. “I’m trying to loosen your muscles, if you could stop tightening up, that would be great!”

“And this might not be the place or the country for this sort of domestic, gentlemen,” Ian says calmly, focusing on loading up a plate full of food for Jamie to eat, “this stuff is pretty rich, mate, go easy or it’ll end up all over the ground, half-digested.”

Jamie nods and sits up, starting to eat. Stevie sits next to him. “You did do a really good job, J,” he admits quietly, “I can see all the work you put into doing this. It’s paying off, too. Maybe football was only your first career, because you’re doing pretty good at this running thing.”

Jamie smiles, and grabs him a fork. “Here, you can have some, it’s really good.”

Stevie rolls his eyes, but takes a few bites. “It is good, now you’ve got to eat as much of it as you can.”

“Without getting sick! Once was enough, I don’t need to see the contents of your stomach again.”

“You _puked_?!”

“First race. Ate too fast afterwards, threw it all back up, and then ate more in the hotel later. It was like the worst preseason ever, only a hundred times worse. Lesson learned, though, never did that again.”

“Did you eat properly while you were running today?” Ian asks, “you had all your gels when we decided you should and when you thought you needed an extra?”

Jamie nods. “Set a timer, ate a gel every hour or so.”

“Good man.”

The post-run routine is a little different, with Stevie there, fussing over him and trying to make him drink more water and eat more food. Ian and Joe might have felt irritated at being micromanaged, if they didn’t see how incredibly happy it made Jamie to have Stevie there.

Plus, he bought all the food, which is nice, and promised to upgrade them all on the flight home so Jamie wouldn't be uncomfortable.

“We should bring him to _all_ the races,” Joe says, working on eating his weight in doner kebab.

Ian nods, working equally hard on his own meal.

They’re in Stevie and Jamie’s hotel room, all sat on the bed and eating away, and that’s the only reason Jamie feels comfortable enough to reach over and kiss Stevie’s cheek. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he? I picked a good one. Mum said so herself.”

“That’s because I got her a fancy necklace for Christmas that year. And told her I wanted to marry you someday. Shocked she managed to keep it to herself, if I’m honest. I love your mum, J, but she does like to spread the word about things.”

Jamie shakes his head, smiling and moving closer. “I’m getting tired,” he mumbles, resting his head on Stevie’s shoulder.

“Getting tired? You ran a marathon and _dinner_ is what makes you tired?” Stevie teases, shifting to put their plates on the nightstand and easing Jamie down.

“He needs an ice bath,” Joe says softly.

Jamie lets out a disgruntled moan. “Don’t _want_ an ice bath,” he whines.

“Come on, babe, I’ll help you, we’ll both go in, and I’ll hold you, okay? Keep you from absolutely freezing to death. If you don’t, you’ll be in so much pain tomorrow, you know that. The ice is going to help you, even if it feels like shit.”

Jamie sighs. “I don’t want to,” he says again, petulantly.

“Come on, then, I’ll carry you there, little baby boy,” Stevie says, half-rolling his eyes, “you don’t have to pretend to be a kid to get me to cuddle you, you know.”

He holds out his arms and Jamie slowly and carefully settles in. He picks him up and takes him to the bathroom.

“Really went to town on that Turkish food, didn’t you,” he mutters, grinning at the little flick he gets on his ear.

“Maybe _you_ just need to get back in the gym,” Jamie retorts, still holding onto him. Joe goes out and fetches the ice, and by the time he gets back, Stevie’s stripping Jamie down, and easing him into cold water.

“Add a little at a time, that’s a good way to make it less of a shock,” he says quietly, “if you leave it here, I’ll take care of it. I need to get in there with him anyway, I promised.”

“Half an hour is the minimum he needs to be in there, I’d recommend forty-five minutes, if you can,” Joe says, nodding. He pauses. “I’m glad he has you to look after him, Stevie.”

Stevie smiles. “I’m glad to have him to look after. He’s not normally such an infant, but he’s clingy when he’s tired, bless him.”

He says goodbye to Joe and Ian and comes back to the bathroom, stripping off and dreading the feeling of cold water and ice cubes against his skin.

He takes a deep breath and climbs in anyway, settling in behind Jamie and holding him close.

“How did you like that, then? Seeing me race?”

“Would’ve liked it better if it didn’t wreck you so much, love.”

Jamie shakes his head. “I kept thinking about you. Kept looking for you, whenever I came up on a spot Ian said you would be there. Didn’t think I could do that last mile, even, the hill was killing me, but I thought I’d get to see you at the finish line, and that was all I wanted.”

Stevie doesn’t say a word, and that’s absolutely not because of how he’s getting a little choked up. He just wraps his arms around his fiancé’s middle and leans his head forward onto Jamie’s shoulder.

“I love you so much.” He presses a kiss to Jamie’s damp skin, cool under his lips. “I’m sorry I got upset, I just—I hate to think of you hurting when you don’t have to, and this is a bit extreme and I’ve never seen you after a race before and I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t expect you to _fall_ , and the cramp scared the fuck out of me.” He takes a deep breath.

“But you ran an amazing race, love. I loved seeing you, and I almost wanted to run it with you. That was the worst part, was not seeing you the whole time. Every gap in between I would wonder how you were doing. What do you even think about for so long? I’d go mad running that long, love.”

Jamie shrugs. “Don’t want to sound like a sap.”

Stevie smiles, and squeezes him for a moment. “As soon as you recover, I’m taking you home and we’re getting married somewhere beautiful. And if you insist on running during our honeymoon, I’ll let you, as long as you take me with you.”

Jamie turns and looks at him. “You hate running.”

“You’ll just have to make it up to me then, marathon man. Put that stamina to good use.” Jamie laughs and kisses him.

 


End file.
